1 


THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

S 

V.  ( 


THE  AMERICAN  IN  PARIS. 


THE  AMEKICAN 


IN 

PARIS. 


JOHN  SANDERSON. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  1. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

CAREY  & HART. 


1839. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by  E.  L.  Carey  & A. 
Hart,  in  the  clerk's  office  of  the  district  court  of  the  eastern  district  of 
Pennsylvania. 


Philadelphia  .* 

T.  K.  &L  P.  G.  Collins,  Printers^ 
No.  1 Lodge  Alley. 


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PREFACE. 


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London,  August,  10th,  1836. 

* # # # * You  have  no  sooner  a 

guinea  in  London  than  you  have  none.  In 
addition  to  the  ways  and  means  I pointed  out 
in  my  last,  gather  together  the  letters  I wrote 
you  from  Paris,  and  offer  them  to  the  booksel- 
lers. There  are  enough,  if  you  have  preserved 
them,  for  a volume.  Those  from  London  re- 
serve until  time  has  made  the  necessary  addi- 
tions for  volume  the  second.  I had  partly  the 
intention,  in  writing  these  letters,  to  dress  them 
up  one  day  into  some  kind  of  shape  for  the 
Public.  I am  not  certain  they  are  fit  to  be 
seen  in  their  present  dishabille — but  leave  that 
to  the  purchaser.  A pretty  woman  slip-shod 
is  a pretty  woman  still,  and  she  is  not  so  much 
improved  as  you  think  by  her  court  dress.  Tell 
the  Public  I do  not  mean  them  foY  great  things: 


OOO  /';  sGf-- 


vlii 


PREFACE. 


I am  no  critic,  no  politician,  no  political  econo- 
mist; but  only,  as  Shakspeare  would  say,  “a 
snapper  up  of  inconsiderate  trifles.”— Under 
this  title  I have  the  honor  to  be,  with  the  most 
perfect  consideration,  the  Public’s  very  obedient, 
humble  servant. 


CONTENTS.' 


LETTER  I. 

Havre — Description  of  the  Town — The  Mapseller — Manners  of  the 
People — Law  of  Inheritance — State  of  Agriculture — Town  and 
Country  Poverty — Foreign  Trade — The  Custom  Iiou?e,  a School 
for  Perjury — System  of  Passports — The  French  Diligence — Rouen 
— The  Cathedral — Joan  of  Arc  - - . - p.  13 — 31 

LETTER  II. 

Paris — Street  Cries — St.  Roch — The  Boulevards — Parisian  Lodgings 
— Manner  of  Living — The  Grand  Opera — Taglioni — The  Public 
Gardens — The  Guinguettes — Dancing,  the  characteristic  amuse- 
ment of  the  French — Sunday  Dances — Dancing  defended,  from 
classical  authority p*  32 — 51 

LETTER  III. 

The  Boulevards — Boulevard  Madelaine — Boulevard  des  Capuoines — 
Boulevard  Italien — Monsieur  Careme — Splendid  Cafes — The  Baths 
— Boulevard  Montmartre — The  Shoe-Black — The  ChifFonnier — 
The  Gratteur — The  Commissionnaire — Boulevard  du  Temple — 
Scene  at  the  Ambigti  Comique — Sir  Sydney  Smith — Monsieur  de 
Paris — The  Cafe  Turc — The  Fountains — Recollections  of  the  Bas- 


X 


CONTENTS. 


tille — The  Halle  aux  Bles — The  Bicetre — Boulevard  du  Mont  Pa r- 
nasse  p.  52—79 


LETTER  IV. 

The  Palais  Royal — French  courtesy — Rue  Vivienne — Pleasures  of 
walking  in  the  streets — Cafes  in  the  Palais  Royal — Mille  Colonnes 
— Very’s — French  dinners — Past  History  of  the  Palais  Royal — 
Galerie  d’Orleans — Gambling — The  unhappy  Colton — Hells  of  the 
Palais  Royal — Prince  Puckler  Muskau — Lord  Brougham — The 
King  and  Queen p.  80 — 103 


LETTER  V. 

The  Tuileries — The  Gardens — The  Statues — The  Cabinets  de  Lec- 
ture— The  King’s  Band — Regulations  of  the  Gardens — Yankee 
modesty — The  English  Parks — Proper  estimate  of  Riches — Policy 
of  cultivating  a taste  for  innocent  pleasures — Advantages  of  gardens 
— Should  be  made  ornamental — Cause  of  the  French  Revolution — 
Mr.  Burke’s  notion  of  the  English  Parks — Climate  of  France 

p.  104—116 


LETTER  VI. 

The  Three  Glorious  Days — The  plump  little  Widow — Marriage  of 
fifteen  young  Girls — Shrines  of  the  Martyrs — Louis  Philippe — 
Dukes  of  Orleans  and  Nemours — The  National  Guards — Fieschi — 
The  Infernal  Machine — Marshal  Mortier  and  twelve  persons  killed 
— Dismissal  of  the  Troops — The  Queen  and  her  Daughters — Dis- 
turbed state  of  France— The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Elements  of 
support  to  the  present  Dynasty — Private  character  of  the  King — 
The  Daily  Journals — The  Chamber  of  Peers — Bonaparte 

p.  117—133 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


LETTER  VII. 

The  Garden  of  Plants — The  Omnibus — The  Museum  of  Natural 
History — American  Birds — The  Naturalist — Study  of  Entomology 
— The  Botanic  Garden — Cabinet  of  Comparative  Anatomy — The 
Menagerie — The  Giraffe — Notions  of  America — The  Cedar  of  Le- 
banon— Effects  of  French  Cookery — French  Gastronomy — Goose 
Liver  Pie — Mode  of  Procuring  the  Repletion  of  the  Liver 

p.  134—148 


LETTER  VIII. 

Burial  of  the  victims — St.  Cloud — The  Chateau — The  Cicerone — The 
Chevalier  dTndustrie — Grave  of  Mrs.  Jordan — The  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne— Amusements  on  Fete  Days — Place  Louis  XV. — The  King 
at  the  Tuileries — The  American  Address — His  Majesty’s  Reply — 
The  Princess  Amelia — The  Queen  and  her  Daughters — The  Dukes 
of  Orleans  and  Nemours — Madame  Adelaide — Splendor  of  Ancient 
Courts — Manner  of  governing  the  French — William  the  Fourth — 
Exhibition  of  the  Students  at  the  University  • p.  148 — 164 

LETTER  IX. 

Tour  of  Paris — The  Seine — The  Garden  of  Plants — The  Animals — 
Island  of  St.  Louis — The  Halle  aux  Vins — The  Police — Palais  de 
Justice — The  Morgue — Number  of  suicides — M.  Perrin — The  Hotel 
de  Ville — Place  de  Greve — The  Pont  Neuf — Quai  des  Augustins — 
The  Institute — Isabelle  de  Baviere — The  Bains  Vigiers — The  Pont 
des  Arts — The  Washerwomen’s  Fete — Swimming-schools  for  both 
sexes — The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Place  de  la  Revolution — Obe- 
lisk of  Luxor — Hospital  of  the  Invalids — Ecole  Militaire — The 
Champ  de  Mars — Talleyrand  . . - . p.  164 — 193 


XU 


CONTENTS. 


LETTER  X. 

Faubourg  St.  Germain — Quartier  Latin — The  Book-stalls — Phrenolo- 
gists— Dupuytren’s  Room — Medical  Students — Lodgings — Bill  at 
the  Sorbonne — French  Cookery — A Gentleman’s  Boarding-house 
— The  Locomotive  Cook — Fruit — The  Pension — The  Landlady — 
Pleasure  in  being  duped — Smile  of  a French  Landlady — The  Board- 
ing-house— Amiable  Ladies — The  Luxembourg  Gardens—The 
Grisettes — Their  naivete  and  simplicity — Americans  sent  to  Paris 
— Parisian  Morals — Advantages  in  visiting  Old  Countries — Ame- 
rican Society  in  Paris p.  194 — 220 

LETTER  XI. 

The  Observatory — The  Astronomers — Val  de  Grace — Anne  of  Aus- 
tria— Hospice  des  Enfans  Trouves — Rows  of  Cradles — Sisters  of 
Charity — Vincent  de  Paul — Maisons  d’ Accouchement — Place  St. 
Jaques — The  Catacombs — Skull  of  Ninon  de  I’Enclos — The  Poet 
Gilbert — Julian’s  Bath — Hotel  de  Cluny — Ancient  Furniture — 
Francis  the  First’s  Bed— Charlotte  Corday — Danton — Marat — 
Robespierre — Rue  des  Postes — Convents  of  former  times — Fau- 
bourg St.  Marceau p.  220 — 233 


THE  AMEEICAN  IN  PARIS. 


LETTER  I. 

Havre — Description  of  the  Town — The  Map  seller — Manners  of  the 
People — Law  of  Inheritance — State  of  Agriculture — Town  and 
Country  Poverty — Foreign  Trade — The  Custom  House,  a School 
for  Perjury — System  of  Passports — Tlie  French  Diligence — Rouen 
— The  Cathedral — Joan  of  Arc. 


Havre,  June  29th,  1835. 

We  arrived  here  late  on  Saturday,  so  that  Sunday 
and  a festival  on  Monday  compel  us  to  await  the 
custom  house  till  Tuesday  evening. 

Do  not  detain  your  husband;  I expect  him  for  the 
latest  in  October.  You  don’t  know  how  much  absence 
from  home  and  loneliness  in  a foreign  country  try  the 
consistency  of  one’s  courage. — And  tell  him  to  listen 
to  my  advice  in  preparing  his  voyage.  His  first  step 
is  to  obtain,  by  a few  lines  to  the  secretary  of  war, 
a passport  describing  his  features,  dimensions,  titles, 
(nose  straight,  eyes  hazle,  &c.)  and  if  he  can  add 
“ Major,”  or  Colonel,”  or  some  cheap  American 
dignity,  he  will  have  a great  many  bows  in  this  coun- 
try he  otherwise  cannot  aspire  to.  I was  foolish 
enough  to  come  over  nothing  but  simple  ^^John.” 
If  he  brings  the  wife  along,  tell  him  to  include  her 
VoL.  I.— 2 


14 


CUSTOM  HOUSE. 


in  the  same  document — (a  little  black  girl,  four  feet 
and  something,  having  a sharp  tongue,  pretty  enough 
mouth  and  teeth,  and  eyes  too  good  for  her  nose.)  I 
don’t  ask  pardon;  a nose  is  only  an  important  feature 
on  a passport;  faces  can  be  pretty  in  spite  of  their 
noses.  You  don’t  kiss  the  book,  so  he  may  put  down 
any  age  your  ladyship  pleases. 

It  is  important  to  choose  a good  ship.  The  Sylvie 
de  Grace”  left  eight  days  after  and  arrived  two  days 
before  us.  The  berth  having  least  motion  is  nearest 
the  middle  of  the  vessel.  Your  fare  to  Havre  is  one 
hundred  and  forty  dollars,  with  a guinea  for  services. 

If  any  lady  of  your  village  has  a disobedient  hus- 
band, or  a son  who  has  beaten  his  mother,  bid  her 
send  him  to  sea. — But  for  particulars  on  this  head  I 
refer  you  to  my  letter  of  yesterday,  in  which  I have 
given  you  all  that  Sebastian  Cabot  and  other  eminent 
navigators  had  left  out.  Travellers  by  sea”  are  cer- 
tainly fit  subjects  for  church  prayers.  I love  the  clergy- 
man who  put  us  in  with  the  ladies  in  the  litany. 
Your  consolation  is  that  the  evil  endures  but  thirty 
days,  often  less,  and  it  purifies  the  blood  for  the  better 
enjoyments  of  land.  Children,  especially  sucking 
babies,  are  rarely  sick,  and  women  bear  the  sea  better 
than  men.  Some  of  your  sex  having  been  born  from 
this  element  accounts  for  the  partiality. 

Let  us  then  skip  over  the  sea.  On  touching  land 
your  passport  is  sent  on  immediately  to  Paris  to  tell 
them  you  have  come,  and  is  restored  to  you  there  in 
exchange  for  a ticket  you  must  ask  at  the  police  office 
at  Havre.  In  the  mean  time  your  two  shirts  and  a 
half  are  paraded  under  military  escort  to  the  custom 
house,  and,  unless  some  saint  is  in  the  way,  are  forth- 


HAVRE. 


15 


with  examined.  If  you  arrive  the  day  before  the 
Millenium  you  have  to  stay  for  your  portmanteau 
until  it  is  over.  This  examination  might  be  made 
on  board,  but  multiplying  duties  multiplies  perqui- 
sites; portage,  entrance  at  the  customs,  and  portage 
again  to  your  lodgings,  enable  them  to  levy  a contri- 
bution of  five  or  six  francs  on  each  of  your  packages. 
All  effects,  except  your  wardrobe,  are  subject  to  duties 
and  delays,  and  sealed  letters  to  a fine.  The  passen- 
gers, too,  are  sometimes  a little  examined;  so  beware 
of  suspicious  appearances. 


June  30th  ■ 

I have  half  a mind  to  describe  this  town  to  you. 
It  has  twenty  thousand  inhabitants;  is  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Seine,  and  twenty-four  hours  from  Paris.  The 
houses  are  high,  mostly  of  black  slate,  and  patched 
often  till  nothing  is  seen  but  the  patches,  and  mush- 
rooms and  other  vegetables  grow  through  the  cracks. 
Villages  in  America  have  an  air  of  youth  and  fresh- 
ness harmonising  Avith  their  dimensions.  Small  things 
should  never  look  old.  This  town  presents  you  with 
the  ungracious  image  of  a Avrinkled  and  gray-headed 
baby.  The  streets,  except  one,  have  no  sidewalks; 
they  are  paved  with  rough  stone,  and  are  without 
gutters  and  common  sewers;  the  march  of  intellect  not 
having  arrived  at  these  luxuries.  The  exception  is 
the  ^^Rue  de  Paris;’’  it  has  trottoirs,”  a theatre,  a 
public  square,  a market  house,  a library  with  six 
thousand  volumes,  and  a church  very  richly  furnished : 
the  organ  presented  by  Cardinal  Richelieu.  I have 
been  to  this  church  this  morning  to  pay  the  Virgin 
Mary  the  pound  of  candles  I owed  for  my  preserva- 


16 


THE  SUBURBS. 


tion  at  sea.  The  prettiest  improvement  I have  seen 
(and  it  is  no  miracle  for  a town  of  so  much  com- 
mercial importance)  is  a dock,  cut  in  from  the  bay 
along  the  channel  of  an  old  creek,  which  contains  three 
or  four  hundred  ships,  a goodly  number  of  which  wear 
the  American  flag;  it  runs  through  the  thick  of  the 
town  and  brings  the  vessels  into  a pleasant  sociability 
with  the  houses.  When  the  tide  is  high  these  vessels 
ride  in  their  own  element;  when  low,  you  see  a whole 
fleet  wallowing  in  the  mud ; and  passengers,  to  get  to 
sea,  have  to  wait  the  complaisance  of  both  wind  and 
tide,  often  a whole  week. 

A little  to  the  north  you  will  see  a compensation 
for  alt  this  ugliness,  in  a hill,  running  boldly  up  to  the 
water’s  edge,  whose  south  side,  several  hundred  feet 
high,  is  smothered  with  houses.  They  seem  to  be 
scrambling  up  the  acclivity  to  look  at  the  town;  and 
the  entire  summit  is  covered  with  beautiful  villas,  and 
gardens  rich  with  trees  and  shrubbery,  and  hedges, 
which  at  this  season  are  a most  luxurious  ornament. 
Many  American  families,  having  grown  rich  here  by 
commerce,  are  perched  magnificently  upon  this  hill. 
The  view  from  the  top  is  charming!  The  old  town, 
in  its  motley  livery  of  houses,  ships,  and  fortifications, 
spreads  itself  out  at  your  feet;  on  the  west  there  is  an 
open  vieAV  of  the  channel,  and  all  the  pretty  images  of 
a commercial  port,  such  as  vessels  in  the  near  and 
distant  prospect,  coming  into  harbor  and  going  out 
upon  their  voyages;  and  on  the  south,  and  beyond  the 
bay  into  which  the  Seine  flows,  is  a fine  romantic 
country  of  field  and  woodland,  which  runs  gradually 
up,  undulating  like  the  sea,  till  it  meets  the  blue  sky. 
It  is  charming  too  in  the  night;  for  as  soon  as  Mer- 


MAP  SELLERS. 


17 


cury  has  hung  out  his  lamps  above,  these  Havrians 
light  up  theirs  in  the  town,  and  set  up  a little  oppo- 
sition to  the  heavens;  and  there  you  are  between  two 
firmaments;  which  of  a fine  evening  is  a fantastic  and 
gorgeous  spectacle.  This  is  the  Havre.  It  is  the 
first  thing  I ever  described,  and  I am  out  of  breath. 

And  now  the  customs  and  manners.  I have  had 
dealings  with  hackney  coachmen,  porters,  pedlers,  and 
pick-pockets,  and  have  found  them  eminently  quali- 
fied in  their  several  departments.  In  strolling  last 
evening  through  the  streets — going  only  to  frank  a 
letter  at  the  post  office,  I remarked  a person  crying 
maps  by  a wall  side.  He  walked  up  and  down  Avith 
arms  folded,  and  had  a grave  and  respectable  face : 

Ji  treiite  sous  seulement! — C^est  incroyable! — Ji 
trente  sousP^  I wished  to  look  after  a place  in  Nor- 
mandy, called  Helleville;  the  very  place  where  Guis- 
card,  and  that  other  choicest  of  all  ladies’  heroes, 
Tancred,  Avere  born — Only  think  of  Tancred  being 
born  in  the  department  of  Coutance,  and  being  nothing 
but  a Frenchman;  and  only  think  too  of  the  possibility 
of  taking  a piece  of  gold  out  of  a man’s  waistcoat 
pocket  at  mid-day,  the  OAvner  being  wide  awake, 
and  in  full  enjoyment  of  his  senses.  I had  no  sooner 
made  my  wants  known  to  this  polite  auctioneer  than, 
Avith  a civilile  touie  Frangaise^  he  placed  the  map 
before  my  eyes — that  is  betAveen  the  eyes  and  the 
Avaistcoat  pocket,  and  himself  just  behind  the  left 
shoulder,  assisting  me  in  the  search — Hell — Hell — 
Hell — HellevilleP^  He  then  resumed  his  Avalk  and 
looked  out  for  new  customers;  and  I with  a return 
of  his  bow  and  smile,  and  a grateful  sense  of  his 
politeness,  took  leave,  and  pursued  my  Avay  content- 

2^ 


18 


MANNERS  AND  CUSTOMS. 


edly,  ^^not  missing  what  was  stolen/’  to  the  post- 
office.  Here  I took  out  my  letter,  had  it  stamped  and 
put  my  hand  complacently  in  my  pocket — I went  home 
very  much  disgusted  with  the  French  nation.  To  be 
robbed  at  the  Havre  brings  no  excuse  for  one’s  wit  or 
understanding;  in  Paris  it  is  what  one  expects  from 
the  civilisation  of  the  capital. 

The  porters,  coachmen,  draymen,  boatmen,  and  such 
like,  about  the  Havre,  are  wrangling  and  noisy  to 
excess.  They  burst  into  an  idle  fury  every  few 
minutes;  reminding  one  of  our  militia  musketry;  there 
is  a preliminary,  and  then  a general  explosion,"‘and 
then  a few  scattering  cartridges,  and  all  ends  in  smoke. 
They  seldom  resort  to  duelling,  and  boxing  is  con- 
sidered vulgar;  and  as  for  oaths,  they  make  no  sort  of 
figure  in  French.  In  the  article  of  swearing  we  are 
ahead  of  all  other  nations.  In  their  common  inter- 
course, however,  these  people  are  much  more  respect- 
ful than  we  are  to  their  betters  and  to  one  another. 
Mr.  Boots,  for  no  other  reason  than  bringing  your  shoes 
in  well  polished,  insists  on  your  pardon  for  having 
deranged  you,”  and  the  beggar  takes  leave  of  his  fellow 
beggar  with  his  respects  to  madam.”  But  these  re- 
spects I have  heard  do  not  bear  the  test  of  any  two- 
penny interest.  There  is  no  civility  that  stands  against 
sixpence.  This  common  world  is  more  social,  and  in 
appearance  more  joyous  than  with  us.  It  huddles 
together  in  public  places,  with  wonderful  conversation 
and  merriment  till  a late  hour  of  the  night.  What  a 
quantity  of  green  old  age!  grandmothers  of  sixty  with 
their  hair  en  papilloite^  are  playing  hide  and  go-seek 
with  twenty-five.  After  all  what  signifies  the  degree 
of  poverty  or  age,  if  one  is  happy?  Another  thing 


MARKET  PEOPLE. 


19 


remarkable,  is  the  respect  paid  to  property.  Benches 
on  the  public  squares  are  handed  down  to  posterity 
with  no  other  marks  than  the  natural  wear  and  tear  of 
sitting  on  them;  vegetables  grow  by  the  way  side  un- 
trodden, and  gardens  and  fields  offer  their  fruits  with- 
out hedge  or  fence,  or  any  visible  protection.  I have 
talked  these  matters  with  a Frenchman,  who  says,  that 
it  is  the  last  generation  only  that  lives  at  this  rate, 
and  that  the  present  one  dies  off  at  a very  reasonable 
age.  The  truth  I believe  is  that  we,  in  our  country, 
keep  old  persons  inside  the  house;  we  wrap  them 
up  and  lay  them  on  the  shelf,  and  ennui  and  neglect, 
no  doubt,  abridge  a little  their  duration.  As  for  the 
security  of  property  he  ascribes  it  entirely  to  a certain 
shepherdly  swain,  very  common  here,  who  wears  red 
breeches,  and  is  coiffed  in  a cocked  hat,  with  one  of 
the  cocks  exactly  over  his  nose,  called  a Garde  Cham- 
petre^  who  watches  day  and  night  over  the  safety  of 
the  fields.  A curiosity  of  the  place  is  the  peasant 
women  whom  you  will  see  mixed  fantastically  with 
the  citizens  in  the  market,  and  flocking  in  and  out  in 
great  numbers  at  the  town  gate.  Labor  and  the  sun 
have  worn  all  the  feminine  charms  out  of  their  faces, 
and  they  have  mounted  up  over  these  ugly  faces 
starched  and  white  caps  two  stories  high,  in  which 
they  encounter  all  sorts  of  weather;  they  are  seated  on 
little  asses,  a large  basket  at  each  side,  in  which  they 
carry  vegetables  to  market,  and  carry  back  manure 
for  the  crops  of  the  next  year. 

The  antiquities.  I visited  this  morning  a trum- 
pery old  palace  of  Charles  V;  also  a round  tower 
built,  they  say,  by  that  great  tower  builder,  Julius 
Caesar;  and  returning  through  a solitary  alley  I stum- 


20 


CAUSES  OF  POVERTY. 


bled  accidentally  upon  a monument  of  more  precious 
memory^  the  birth  place  of  the  author  of  Paul  and 
Virginia.  It  is  a scrubby  old  hut  with  a bit  of  marble 
in  front  containing  his  name  and  day  of  nativity. 
Genius  seems  to  have  but  mean  notions  of  the  dignity 
of  birth;  Pindar  was  born  among  the  vapors  of  Boeotia. 
and  St.  Pierre  in  this  filthy  alley  of  the  Havre. 

The  politics.  The  children  here  are  apportioned 
equally  and  cannot  be  disinherited.  All  the  father 
can  dispose  of  by  will  is  a half,  third,  or  fourth  of  the 
estate,  according  as  he  has  one,  two,  or  more  heirs. 
This  kind  of  succession  cuts  up  the  land  into  small 
patches,  and  thus  brings  poverty  on  both  town  and 
country;  all  the  families  being  without  capital  to  im- 
prove their  agricultural  resources.  They  have  but 
little'  to  spare  to  the  town,  and  can,  therefore,  buy 
but  little  of  its  stores  and  manufactures;  and  from 
inability  to  supply  the  raw  materials  and  provisions 
cheap,  buy  this  little  at  an  enhanced  price.  In  this 
way  the  two  parties  mutually  beggar  each  other. 
Besides,  under  this  system  of  minute  divisions,  the 
farming  population  increases  enormously,  poverty  in- 
creasing in  the  same  ratio.  Two-thirds  of  the  French 
are  already  farmers;  and  in  England,  where  farming 
is  in  so  much  greater  perfection,  the  ratio  is  one-third. 
This  law,  too,  in  rendering  the  children  independent 
of  the  father,  destroys  his  authority  and  check  upon 
their  conduct;  it  weakens  the  motives  to  exertion, 
which  arise  from  fear  of  want  or  prospects  of  future 
good,  and  is  consequently  unfavorable  to  intellect  and 
morals.  The  English  system  makes  one  son  only  a 
fool,  the  French  besots  the  whole  family.  A redun- 
dant population  is  the  great  curse  of  all  these  old 


AGRICULTURE. 


21 


countries,  and  under  this  system  of  subdivision  a 
nation,  unless  the  blessings  of  war  or  the  plague  inter- 
vene, becomes  as  multitudinous  as  the  Chinese,  eating 
dogs  and  cats, -and  potatoes,  and  hunting  with  cows 
and  pigs;  a plough,  as  in  Ireland,  becoming  a joint 
stock  possession,  and  a horse  belonging  to  a whole 
neighborhood.  The  French,  in  spite  of  the  Mos- 
cows  and  Waterloos,  have  added  between  five  and  six 
millions  to  their  population  of  1789.  Agriculture, 
to  be  sure,  was  improved  by  the  Revolution — by  the 
divisions  amongst  the  peasantry  of  the  national  do- 
mains, and  confiscated  property  of  the  nobles — by 
the  abolition  of  tithes  and  game  laws,  and  by  bring- 
ing the  waste  land  into  cultivation;  but  this  condi- 
tion is  or  must  soon  be  on  the  reverse.  In  America 
the  abundance  of  idle  and  cheap  land  prevents  this 
calamity  for  the  present.  I have  travelled  a few  miles 
in  the  country,  and  have  squeezed  what  sense  I could 
out  of  the  peasants.  I find  that  in  qll  branches  of 
husbandry,  a laborer  here  performs  a fourth  less  work 
daily  than  in  America;  and  in  ploughing  and  reaping, 
nearly  a third.  The  French  implements,  too,  are 
clumsy  and  bungling;  oxen  are  yoked  by  the  horns; 
harrows  have  wooden  teeth,  and  the  plough,  mostly 
of  wood,  scratches  up  the  earth  instead  of  turning  a 
furrow. 

Another  great  evil  in  French  politics  is  the  cen- 
tralisation of  every  thing  in  the  metropolis.  In  our 
country  each  borough  or  township  is  an  independent 
community,  and  manages  its  concerns  with  scarce  a 
sense  of  any  foreign  superintendence.  An  individual 
recommends  himself  to  favor  first  in  his  village,  then 
in  his  county,  next  in  his  state,  and  finally  in  the 


22 


NEGLECT  OF  MACHINERY. 


United  States;  and  none  glimmer  in  the  last  sphere 
who  have  not  shone  in  the  first.  Here  this  condi- 
tion is  reversed — there  is  a converging  of  all  the  rays 
into  one  general  focus.  Paris  is  the  centre,  and  there 
is  none  but  delegated  authority  anywhere  else.  So 
the  French  provinces  are  out  at  the  heels  and  elbows, 
and  Paris  wears  its  elegant  and  fashionable  wardrobe. 
Your  Pottsville  has  a hundred  miles  of  railroad, 
whilst  the  Havre  transports  the  whole  trade  of  the 
capital  by  a two  wheeled  operation  she  calls  the  rou- 
logey^^  and  her  boats  upon  the  channel  carrying  on  the 
intercourse  between  the  two  greatest  cities  of  the 
world,  are  about  equal  to  yours,  in  which  you  cross 
over  into  Jersey  to  eat  creams  with  mother  Heyle. 

A third  reason  of  village  and  country  poverty  is 
the  neglect  of  machinery  by  which  production  may 
be  increased  with  a diminution  of  labor.  Not  a rail- 
road has  yet  shown  its  nose  in  this  place,  though  it 
is  the  outlet  Jto  the  foreign  trade  of  one-third  of  the 
French  territory,  including  the  capital  with  its  almost 
a million  of  inhabitants.  They  are  cleaning  their  great 
dock  to-day  with  a hundred  or  two  of  men  armed  with 
spades,  whilst  a machine  is  doing  the  same  work  upon 
the  Delaware  with  three  or  four  negroes.  The  econo- 
mists of  the  French  school  reason  thus:  If  this  clumsy 
apparatus  is  superseded  our  workmen  will  be  out  of 
employ;  besides  it  is  known  that  the  increase  of  con- 
sumers always  keeps  pace  with  the  increase  of  pro- 
duction, and  you  end  where  you  began. — But  you 
increase  also  your  strength.  Yes,  and  the  difficulties  of 
government.  You  give  life  to  a greater  number  of 
human  beings,  and  little  obligations  have  they  for  the 
gift  if  they  are  to  run  the  risk  of  being  corrupted  in 


CAUSES  OF  POVERTY. 


23 


this  world  and  punished  in  the  next;  and  the  means  of 
corruption  are  greater  in  a crowded  than  a sparse 
population:  greater  amongst  an  idle  and  luxurious 
than  a simple  and  laborious  people.  The  American 
public  was  more  happy  and  virtuous  with  its  three 
millions  than  with  its  ten  millions  and  its  railroads. 
If  this  is  all  true,  then  the  country  which  has  least 
fertility  of  soil  and  least  skill  in  the  arts  of  agriculture 
is  the  most  favored  by  Providence;  and  the  best  system 
of  economy  is  that  which  teaches  us  to  procure  the 
least  possible  produce  with  the  greatest  possible  labor. 
The  best  employment,  too,  for  the  laborers,  would  be 
to  plant  cucumbers  in  summer,  and  extract  the  sun- 
beams out  of  them  to  keep  themselves  warm  in  winter. 
I like  the  system  which  teaches  us  to  increase  the  sum 
of  human  comforts.  I think  it  is  better  to  live  in  an 
improved  country  with  clean  streets  and  neat  dwell- 
ings, than  to  have  the  same  means  of  living  with  a 
destitution  of  such  conveniences.  I like  even  to  starve 
Avith  decent  accommodations. 

A fourth  great  cause  of  poverty  is  the  restriction 
which  these  nations  have  imposed  upon  their  mutual 
intercourse,  and  the  produce  of  each  other’s  industry. 
There  is  a total  disagreement  between  natural  reason 
and  the  custom  of  all  countries  on  this  subject.  Nature, 
by  giving  us  a diversity  of  soils,  climates  and  pro- 
ducts, has  pointed  out  the  right  objects  of  industry, 
and  laid  all  nations  under  obligations  of  dependence 
and  intimacy  upon  each  other,  and  there  is  a general 
struggle  amongst  all  to  counteract  this  benevolent 
design.  France,  for  example,  has  a natural  fitness  for 
wines,  and  the  land  producing  this  wine  is  unsuited 
to  any  other  culture,  yet  she  has  so  managed  as  to 


24 


WINE  TRACTS. 


keep  her  wine  trade  stationary  for  the  last  fifty  years. 
England  buys  her  wine,  of  inferior  quality,  from  Por- 
tugal and  Spain,  and  carries  on  a greater  trade  with 
the  Chinese,  her  antipodes,  than  with  France,  her 
next  door  neighbor.  All  proclaim  the  benefits  of  fo- 
reign trade,  and  all  legislate  directly  to  get  rid  of  their 
foreign  customers.  In  what  more  direct  way  could 
France  prevent  the  sale  of  her  wines  to  Russia,*  Swe- 
den and  England,  than  by  refusing  their  coal,  iron, 
woollen  manufactures,  and  other  products  for  which 
they  have  a natural  advantage,  in  return?  But  the 
great  struggle  of  all  is  to  become  independent;  and 
yet  the  very  word  implies  the  extinction  of  all  foreign 
commerce.  The  greatest  of  all  national  blessings  is 
assuredly  that  very  dependence  we  are  so  eager  to 
avoid.  We  cannot  become  dependent  upon  a foreign 
nation  without  laying  it,  at  the  same  time,  under  a 
similar  dependence. — But  in  case  of  a war?  This  is 
the  very  way  to  make  a war  impossible.  Men  do 
not  war  against  their  own  interests.  We  are  de- 
pendent upon  Lyons  for  her  silks,  and  her  petitions 
are  now  pouring  in  daily  against  the  impending  war 
with  America;  and  many  think  they  will  go  nigh  to 
prevent  it.  Would  not  this  war  be  more  remote  if 
the  dependence  were  increased?  If  I wished  to  pre- 
vent all  future  wars  with  France  and  England,  I would 
begin  by  building  a railroad  from  Paris  to  London, 
and  removing  their  commercial  restrictions.  Each 
country  would  then  improve  to  the  uttermost  tHat 
industry  to  which  it  is  most  fitted.  Intimacies,  too, 
would  be  improved,  prejudices  effaced,  and  they 
would  become,  at  length,  so  dependent  upon  each 
other,  that  even  should  a mad  or  silly  government 


THE  CUSTOM  HOUSE. 


25 


involve  them  in  a war,  their  mutual  interests  would 
force  them  to  discontinue  it. 

Of  all  methods  of  gathering  taxes  that  of  the  custom 
house  seems  to  me  the  worst.  What  an  expensive 
apparatus  of  buildings;  what  a fleet  of  vessels;  what 
an  army  of  spies!  what  courts  of  admiralty;  and 
what  an  array  of  new  crimes  upon  the  statute  book! 
A custom  house  is  a school  for  perjury  and  other  vices, 
and  where  the  first  lessons  are  made  easy  for  beginners. 
There  is  nothing  one  robs  with  so  little  compunction  as 
one’s  country.  It  is  at  worst  only  robbing  thirty  mil- 
lions of  people.  A sin  loses  its  criminality  by  diffu- 
sion, and  may  be  so  expanded  as  to  be  no  sin  at  all. 
All  the  functions  of  a custom  house  are  in  their  nature 
odious  and  vexatious.  The  first  injunction  is  to  refuse 
the  traveller,  wearied  of  the  sea,  the  common  rites  of 
hospitality  on  setting  his  foot  upon  the  land;  to  ran- 
sack even  honest  women  by  impudent  police  officers, 
and  subject  honorable  men  to  a scrutiny  practised 
elsewhere  only  upon  thieves.  I piqued  a Frenchman 
on  board  our  ship  on  the  venality,  which  I had  heard 
of,  of  the  French  ports.  He  replied  that  he  had  been 
in  the  American  trade  for  ten  years,  and  accompanied 
each  of  his  cargoes  to  our  ports  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  not  paying  the  duties.  Why  nothing  is  more 
easy.  There  is  an  officer  who  examines;  we  know 
each  other;  he  knocks  off  the  top  of  the  boxes,  rum- 
mages the  calico  with  great  fuss  and  ceremony,  and 
the  silks  and  jeweller}^  sleep  quiet  at  the  bottom. — 
Whoever,  he  says,  pays  more  than  ten  per  cent  of  his 
duties  in  any  country,  is  unacquainted  with  his  busi- 
ness.” 

There  is  another  item  in  European  policy,  the  re- 
VOL.  L— 3 


26 


PASSPORTS. 


quirement  of  passports — the  cost,  the  delays  and  vexa- 
tious ceremony  attending  it — that  has  incurred  abun- 
dant reprehension,  especially  from  American  travel- 
lers; and  there  certainly  is  no  other  use  in  such  a 
regulation  than  that  a set  of  the  most  despicable 
creatures  that  creep  upon  the  earth  may  get  a living 
by  it.  But  when  one  is  used  for  a long  time  to  see 
things  done  in  a certain  way,  one  does  not  conceive 
the  possibility  of  their  being  done  in  any  other  way. 
When  I informed  an  intelligent  Frenchman  of  forty 
years,  that  even  a stranger  did  not  carry  a passport 
about  with  him  in  America,  and  that  Ave  dispensed 
with  all  this  array  of  police  officers  and  spies,  and 
other  such  impediments  to  travelling  and  the  inter- 
course of  nations,  he  inferred  that  there  could  be  no 
personal  security.  That  alone,  he  said,  would  deter- 
mine him  from  residing  in  the  United  States.  When  I 
cited  against  him  the  example  of  England,  he  remained 
incredulous;  and  required  the  confirmation  of  a better 
authority. 

Don’t  you  imagine  that  I am  going  to  treat  you 
hereafter  to  politics.  Events  have  not  yet  thickened 
upon  my  observation,  and  I am  obliged  to  make  use 
of  all  my  resources.  If  I could  afford  to  send  you 
blank  paper  all  the  Avay  across  the  Atlantic,  I would 
have  omitted  these  last  pages;  hand  them  over  to  your 
husband. 

The  living  here  is  about  equal  in  the  quality  of 
food  and  price  to  your  best  houses  of  Philadelphia. 
The  hotels  are  shabby  in  comparison  Avith  ours;  the 
one  I lodge  in  has  not  been  Avashed  since  the  year 
of  the  world  1656;  but  the  cookery  and  service  are 
altogether  in  favor  of  the  French.  A breakfast  is 


THE  FRENCH  DILIGENCE. 


27 


two  francs,  a dinner  three,  and  a chamber  two.  You 
may  count  your  daily  expenses  at  a dollar  and  a half 
in  the  best  houses.  The  Havre  is  our  first  acquaint- 
ance coming  into  the  continent,  and  its  history  can- 
not be  without  some  interest,  especially  to  ladies  Avho 
are  just  sighing  to  go  to  Paris. 


Rouen,  July  3d,  1835. 

What  a curiosity  of  ugliness  is  a French  diligence. 
It  exceeds  in  this  quality  even  our  American  stages. 
But  the  sacrifice  of  beauty  is  to  convenience:  it  carries 
three  tons  of  passengers  and  baggage,  with  a speed  of 
seven  miles  an  hour.  The  coupi,  in  front,  has  three 
seats,  the  interieur  six,  and  the  roionde  as  many  in 
the  rear;  the  price  decreasing  in  the  same  direction 
from  the  whole  to  about  the  half  of  our  American 
prices.  There  are,  also,  three  seats  aloft.  These 
divisions  are  invisible  to  each  other,  and  represent 
the  world  outside,  the  rich,  the  middling,  and  the 
poor.  If  you  feel  very  aristocratic,  you  take  the 
whole  coup^  to  yourself,  or  yourself  and  lady,  and 
you  can  be  as  private  as  you  please.  Each  seat  is 
numbered,  and  the  traveller  has  his  number  on  the 
way  bill  and  in  his  pocket.  A condiicteur  superin- 
tends baggage,  &c.,  and  is  paid  extra.  The  team  has 
three  horses  abreast  in  front  and  two  in  their  rear, 
and  upon  one  of  the  latter  is  mounted  a postillion. 
This  personage  deserves  a particular  notice.  He  is 
immersed  to  his  middle  in  a huge  pair  of  boots,  making 
each  leg  the  diameter  of  his  body;  and  his  body,  too, 
is  squeezed  into  a narrow  coat,  which,  being  buttoned 
to  the  chin,  props  his  woeful  countenance  towards 
the  firmament,  so  that  he  corresponds  exactly  with 


28 


ROAD  TO  ROUEN. 


Ovid’s  description  of  a man,  or  rather  he  looks  like 
the  letter  Y upside  down.  Cracking  a whip  he  does 
not  regard  as  an  acquirement  but  a virtue.  He  can 
crack  several  tunes;  and  in  a calm  night  serenades  a 
whole  village. 

The  road  to  Rouen,  in  the  diligence,  has  nothing 
in  it  agreeable.  The  land  has  the  ordinary  crops, 
but  it  is  a wide  waste  of  cultivation,  without  hedges 
or  barns,  or  cottages.  The  only  relief  is  now  and  then 
a comfortless  village,  or  a solitary  and  neglected  cha- 
teau. You  swallow  a mouthful  of  dust  at  each 
breath,  and  you  are  disgusted  at  all  the  stopping 
places  by  the  wailing  voices  of  beggars,  old  men  and 
women  recommending  themselves  by  decrepitude,  and 
children  by  rags  and  nakedness.  The  children  often 
run  down  the  diligence  a quarter  of  a mile  in  quest 
of  the  charitable  sou.  I soon  got  out  of  change,  and 
then  reasoned  myself  into  a fit  of  uncharitableness. 
They  may  be  unworthy  and  I shall  encourage  vice; 
besides,  charity  only  increases  the  breed.  What  I 
give  to  these  vagabonds  I take  from  somebody  else; 
I should  otherwise  lay  it  out  in  some  article  of  trade, 
and,  if  all  do  so,  we  shall  only  make  a new  set  of 
beggars  by  relieving  the  old — reduce  the  industrious 
to  mendicity  by  encouraging  the  idlers.  Moreover  I 
can’t  help  all,  and  I won’t  help  any,  or,  if  I do  help 
any,  I will  give  to  my  own  countrymen,  and  not  to 
these  ragamuffin  Frenchmen.  In  this  way  you  get 
along  without  much  affecting  the  tranquillity  of  your 
conscience.  My  advice  is  that  you  come  by  the 
Seine  and  the  steamboat.  It  is  a passage  of  only  eight 
hours,  and  every  one  extols  its  beautiful  and  romantic 
scenery. 


ROUEN. 


29 


Rouen  is  the  birth  place  of  Racine  and  Fontenelle 
and  of  Boildieu.  It  deserves  a passing  notice  on 
their  account,  as  also  on  its  own.  The  residence  of 
those  truculent  old  Norman  dukes,  who  made  the 
world  shake  with  fear,  and  gave  sovereigns  to  some 
of  the  best  nations  of  Europe,  cannot  be  an  indif- 
ferent spot  upon  the  globe.  Indeed,  we  may  trace  to 
it  many  of  our  own  institutions,  as  well  as  a good 
part  of  our  language.  Our  terms  of  law,  the  very 
cries  of  our  courts  in  Schuylkill  county,  are  imported 
from  this  Old  Normandy,  of  which  Rouen  is  the  capi- 
tal. It  is  a fantastic  old  town  with  earthenware  tiles, 
and  enclosed  between  two  mountains,  having  a mix- 
ture of  art  and  nature,  which  bring  each  other  out 
finely  into  relief.  One  is  delighted  to  see  town  in  the 
country,  and  country  in  the  town.  Here  is  a large 
factory  or  hotel,  and  there  a set  of  gray  and  tawny 
looking  hovels,  like  a village  of  the  Pottawattimies. 
The  peasants  are  seen  amongst  the  tops  and  chimneys 
of  the  houses,  cultivating  their  fields  on  the  sides  and 
upon  the  summits  of  the  hills,  Avhich  are  arrayed  in 
tufts  of  woodland,  hedges  and  pasturage;  and  all  the 
avenues  leading  to  the  town  are  beautifully  over- 
shaded with  chestnuts  and  elms.  The  Seine,  too, 
has  its  fairy  islands  and  weeping  willows  on  its  banks, 
and  winds  along  through  the  middle  of  the  town; 
and  now  and  then  a steamboat  comes  up  the  valleys 
with  a puffing  and  fuss  that  would  have  made  stare 
even  the  iron  features  of  old  Rollo.  One  can  see  such 
a town  but  once,  and  no  one  can  see  it  so  well  as  he 
who  has  been  used  to  the  fresh  and  glaring  villages 
of  our  country.  Rouen  has  ninety  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, a library  of  four  thousand  volumes,  a gallery 

3^ 


30 


THE  CATHEDRAL. 


of  paintings,  and  manufactures  of  all  sorts  of  calico 
and  other  cotton  stuffs;  also  of  linen,  bombasins  and  vel- 
vet shawls.  More  than  half  the  population  is  engaged 
directly  in  these  manufactures.  My  advice  is  that 
you  sleep  here  one  night  instead  of  in  the  diligence 
in  running  post  to  Paris.  In  your  evening’s  walk 
I invite  you  to  step  out  and  see  Napoleon’s  bridge, 
which  has  in  the  centre  of  it  a fine  statue  of  Cor- 
neille. 

I went  to  see  that  famous  piece  of  venerable  an- 
tiquity, the  Cathedral.  You  have  its  picture  in  all 
the  Penny  Magazines.”  Our  guide,  who  knows  it 
by  heart,  told  us  his  tale  as  follows;  “ Gentlemen,  this 
is  the  tomb  of  Rollo,  first  duke  of  Normandy;  no  horse 
could  carry  him;  had  to  walk  on  foot;  died  917. — 
Gentlemen,  this  is  William  Longsword,  his  son  and 
successor;  was  on  the  point  of  taking  the  frock  to  be 
a monk,  but  was  basely  assassinated  by  Araund,  Count 
of  Flanders.”  (And  the  devil  a monk  was  he.) — 

Gentlemen,  this  is  Pierre  de  Breze,  Grand  Senes- 
chal of  Anjou  and  Normandy;  fell  in  the  battle  of 
Montlherry,  1467;  and  this  is  John,  Duke  of  Bed- 
ford, Viceroy  of  Normandy,  who  died  in  1438.  In 
this  tomb,  gentlemen,  (come  a little  nearer,)  in  this 
tomb  is  deposited  the  heart  of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion! 
(a  tremor  ran  through  our  bones.)  His  heart  is  in 
this  tomb;  his  brains  are  in  Poictiers,  and  the  other 
parts  of  him  in  Kent,  in  Great  Britain.  The  man 
who  took  out  his  brains  died  of  it.  This  is  the  last 
man  Richard  killed,  and  he  had  killed  more  than  one.” 
Here  our  cicerone  ran  down,  and  his  features,  just 
now  so  animated,  were  suddenly  decomposed  and 
collapsed,  the  natural  effect  of  inspiration.  We  looked 


JOAN  OF  ARC. 


31 


then  at  the  great  bell,  and  the  organs,  and  the  statues 
of  saints,  most  of  them  mutilated  in  the  Revolution. 
One,  without  a nose,  they  told  us  was  St.  Dunstan;  the 
devil  and  the  Jacobins  having  retaliated.  There  is  a 
headless  trunk,  too,  they  might  very  well  pass  for  St. 
Denis.  One  of  the  remarkable*  features  of  this  church 
is  the  painting  on  glass,  representing  scriptural  scenes, 
of  which  the  colors  seem  to  have  grown  more  vivid  by 
time,  though  time  has  destroyed  the  secret  of  their 
composition.  The  architecture  is  Gothic,  and  the 
grandest  specimen  of  this  order  in  France.  Its  im- 
mense fluted  columns,  near  a hundred  feet  high,  and 
ten  or  twelve  in  diameter;  its  images  of  Christ  and 
the  Virgin,  and  the  pictures  of  the  Apostles  and  Saints, 
are  awful  and  beautiful.  The  lightning  has  thought 
it  worthy  of  a visit,  and  has  overturned  one  of  its 
huge  towers. 

Poor  Joan  of  Arc!  Here  is  her  monument  in  the 
midst  of  the  market  square,  where  she  was  burnt. — 
It  is  a pedestal  of  twenty  feet  surmounted  by  her 
statue.  Alongside  of  this  trophy  of  French  and  Eng- 
lish barbarism,  instead  of  blushing  for  shame,  they 
show  you  for  sixpence  the  room  in  which  she  .was 
imprisoned.  It  is  damp,  and  has  only  glimmerings 
of  light,  and  is  altogether  a horrid  remnant  of  anti- 
quity. Farewell  to  Rouen. 


32 


PARIS. 


LETTER  11. 


Paris—Strect  Cries — St.  Roch — The  Boulevards — Parisian  Lodgings 
— Manner  of  Living — The  Grand  Opera — Taglioni — The  Public 
Gardens — The  Guinguettes — Dancing,  the  characteristic  amuse- 
ment of  the  French — Sunday  Dances — Dancing  defended,  from 
classical  authority. 

Paris,  July  4th,  1835. 

When  one  has  travelled  all  night  in  a French  dili- 
gence in  the  dog-days,  and  is  set  down  next  morning 
in  the  Place  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires/’  three  thou- 
sand miles  from  one’s  home — oh  dear!  one  has  much 
less  pleasure  in  the  aspect  of  the  great  city  than  one 
expected.  Voila  Paris!  said  the  conducteur,”  an- 
nouncing our  approach;  each  one  half  opening  his 
eyes,  and  then  closing  them  suddenly.  Four  gentle- 
men and  two  ladies  in  a diligence  bobbing  their  heads 
at  each  other  about  six  of  the  morning,  the  hour  in 
which  sleep  creeps  so  agreeably  upon  one’s  senses, 
is  an  interesting  spectacle.  It  was  cruel  to  be  inter- 
rupted in  so  tender  an  interview.  Voila  Paris!  was 
echoed  a second  time,  so  we  awoke  and  looked  out, 
except  a lady  who  reposed  gently  upon  my  left  shoul- 
der; who  had  seen  Paris  a thousand  times,  and  never 
slept  with  four  gentlemen  perhaps  in  her  life;  she  lay 
still,  I attentive  not  to  awake  her,  until  the  ill-omened 
raven  croaked  a third  time  Paris!  A French  gentleman 
now  did  the  honors  of  the  city  to  us  strangers.  That, 
sir,  is  the  ^ Invalids;’  see  how  the  morning  rays  glitter 


MOTIVE  FOR  REFLECTION. 


33 


from  its  gilded  dome.  And  this,  which  peers  so  proudly 
over  the  Barriere  de  PEtoile,  is  the  grand  Triumphal 
Arch  of  Napoleon;’^  and  he  read  over  the  trophies — 
Marengo!  Jena!  Austerlitz!  praised  the  sculpture  and 
has  reliefs,  and  burst  out  into  a great  many  tropes 
about  French  victories.  We  now  passed  Sown  through 
the  Champs  Elysees,  rolled  along  the  beautiful  Rue 
Rivoli,  and  arrived  fast  asleep  upon  the  Place  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires.’’  I advise  you  to  sleep  at  St.  Ger- 
mains, where  the  steamboat  will  leave  you,  and  come 
to  Paris  next  morning  with  the  imagination  fresh  for 
the  enjoyment.  To  be  wide  awake  improves  wonder- 
fully one’s  capacity  for  admiration. 

I stood  and  looked  about,  and  I felt  the  spirit  of 
manhood  die  away  within  me;  and  every  other  spirit, 
even  curiosity.  I would  rather  have  seen  one  of  your 
hay-cocks  than  the  Queen.  But,  fortunately,  here  is 
no  time  for  reflection.  You  are  immediately  surround- 
ed by  a score  of  individuals,  who  greet  you  with  hats 
in  their  hands  and  with  great  ofRciousness,  offering  you 
all  at  once  their  services.  Some  are  exceeding  anxious 
you  should  lodge  in  their  hotels:  La  plus  jolie  lo- 
cation de  tout  Paris — des  chambres  de  toute  beautSf 
and  others  are  dying  to  carry  your  baggage;  others  again 
are  eager  to  sell  you  their  wares,  and  thrust  a bit  of 
soap,  or  a cane,  or  a pair  of  spectacles  in  your  face  sud- 
denly. I mistook  this  for  an  attempt  at  assassination. 
Next  I had  to  bow  to  my  toes  for  a lodging.  With 
the  address  of  three  hotels  a mile  apart,  I had  to  pick 
one  out  of  the  street.  I advise  you  not  to  run  about 
town  till  your  porter’s  charges  are  of  greater  amount 
than  the  value  of  your  baggage,  but  to  put  yourself 
and  your  trunks  in  a hack,  and  you  will  have  at  least 
a ride  for  your  money;  besides  the  driver  is  limited  in 


34 


THE  HOUSES. 


his  charges,  and  the  porter  is  h discretion^  and  discre- 
tion is  one  of  the  dearest  of  the  French  virtues. 

Who  do  you  think  I had  for  a fellow  traveller? 

Your  old  acquaintance , who  has  lost  his 

wife  and  travels  to  dissipate  his  grief.  He  has  not 
left  off  saying  good  things.  He  remarked  that  it 
Avas  a bad  day  to  go  into  Paris — the  4th  of  July; 
there  Avould  be  such  a crowd.  Recollecting  with 
what  jubilee  we  celebrate  this  day  at  Ncav  York,  he 
imagined  how  much  greater  must  be  the  confusion  in 
Paris.  He  feared  we  should  have,  our  brains  knocked 
out  by  the  mob.  You  can^t  think  what  advantage  it 
is,  for  one  having  little  of  this  commodity  of  brains, 
to  travel  into  foreign  countries;  one  grows  into  the 
reputation  of  a wit  by  not  being  understood.  I do  not 
mean  to  be  arrogant  in  saying  I am  better  versed,  at 
least  in  our  foreign  relations,  than  my  companion,  and 
yet  I Avas  noticed  on  the  way  only  as  being  of  his  suite, 
Avhich  I ascribe  entirely  to  my  capacity  to  express  my- 
self in  a knoAvn  tongue.  As  he  spoke  no  French,  I 
was  mistaken  for  the  interpreter  to  some  foreign  am- 
bassador. 

Paris  is  a Avilderness  of  tall,  scraggy,  and  dingy 
liouses,  of  irregular  heights  and  sizes,  starting  out 
impudently  into  the  street,  or  retiring  modestly,  and 
Avithout  symmetry:  a palace  often  the  counterpart  of 
a pig-sty;  and  a cathedral  next  neighbor  to  a henroost. 
The  streets  run  zig-zag,  and  abut  against  each  other 
as  if  they  did  not  know  which  way  to  run.  They 
are  paved  Avith  cubical  stones  of  eight  and  ten  inches, 
convex  on  the  upper  surface  like  the  shell  of  a terra- 
pin; few  have  room  for  sidewalks,  and  Avhere  not 
bounded  by  stores,  they  are  dark  as  they  were  under 
king  Pepin.  Some  of  them  seem  to  be  water  tight 


STREET  CRIES. 


35 


St.  Anne,  my  first  acquaintance,  is  yet  clammy  with 
mud  after  a week’s  drought,  and  early  in  the  morning 
when  she  gets  up  she  is  filthy  to  a degree  that  is  inde- 
cent. The  etymology  of  Paris  is  mud;  the  etymology 
of  the  Bourbons  is  mud,  and  mud  to  the  last  note  of 
time  will  be  Paris  and  the  Bourbons. 

As  for  the  noise  of  the  streets,  I need  not  attempt  to 
describe  it.  What  idea  can  ears,  used  only  to  the  ordi- 
nary and  human  noises,  conceive  of  this  unceasing 
racket — this  rattling  of  the  cabs  and  other  vehicles  over 
the  rough  stones,  this  rumbling  of  the  omnibuses.  For 
the  street  cries — one  might  have  relief  from  them  by 
a file  and  handsaw. — First,  the  prima  donna  of  the 
fish-market  opens  the  morning:  Carpes  toiites fraiches; 
voila  des  carpes!  And  then  stand  out  of  the  way  for 
the  glazier:  Jiu  vitriere!  quavering  down  the  chro- 
matic to  the  lowest  flat  upon  the  scale.  Next  the 
iron-monger  with  his  rasps,  and  files  and  augers,  which 
no  human  ears  could  withstand,  but  that  his  notes  are 
happily  mellowed  by  the  seller  of  old  clothes:  Mar^ 
chand  de  drap!  in  a monotone  so  low  and  spon- 
daic, and  so  loud  as  to  make  Lablache  die  of  envy. 
About  nine  is  full  chorus,  headed  by  the  old  wo- 
men and  their  proclamations:  Horribleatlentat  contre 
la  vie  dll  roi  Louis  Philippe — et  la  petite  chienne 
de  Madame  la  Marquise — 6gar6e  cl  dix  heures — 
UArchevequede  Paris — Le  Sieur  Lacenaire — Louis 
Philippe^  le  Prods  monstre — et  tout  cela  pour  qua- 
tre  sous!  being  set  loose  all  at  the  same  time,  tuned 
to  different  keys.  All  things  of  this  earth  seek,  at 
one  time  or  another,  repose — all  but  the  noise  of  Paris. 
The  waves  of  the  sea  are  sometimes  still,  but  the 
chaos  of  these  streets  is  perpetual  from  generation  to 


36 


ST.  ROCH. 


generation;  it  is  the  noise  that  never  dies.  Many 
new  comers  have  been  its  victims.  In  time,  however 
— such  is  the  complaisance  of  human  nature — we  be- 
come reconciled  even  to  this  never  ending  hubbub. 
It  becomes  even  necessary,  it  is  said  to  one^s  comforts. 
There  are  persons  here  who  get  a night-mare  in  a 
place  of  tranquillity  and  can  sleep  only  upon  the 
Boulevards. 

Paris  and  I are  yet  on  ceremonious  terms.  I ven- 
ture upon  her  acquaintance  as  one  who  walks  upon 
ice:  it  is  the  boy first  lesson  of  skating.  I am  not 
much  versed  in  towns  any  way,  and  this  one  is  ahead 
of  my  experience.  In  my  case  one  is  ignorant  and 
afraid  to  ask  information.  I did  venture  this  morn- 
ing to  ask  what  general  that  was — a fat,  decent  look- 
ing gentleman,  in  silk  stockings,  and  accoutred  in  regi- 
mentals. That  general,  sir,  is  Prince  Talleyrand’s 
lacquey.  Soon  after  I inquired  what  house  was  that 
barn  of  a place.  That  house,  sir,  is  the  Louvre.  So 
I must  feel  the  ground  under  me.  Yesterday  being 
Sunday,  (which  I found  out  by  the  almanac,)  I went 
to  St.  Roch’s.  I had  the  luck  to  hit  upon  the  fashion- 
able church;  but  the  preacher  was  the  god  of  dulness. 
The  world,  he  says,  is  growing  worse  and  worse ; we 
being  greater  rogues  than  our  ancestors,  and  about  to 
produce  a worse  set  of  rogues  than  ourselves.  “ The 
antichrist  is  already  come.’’  If  he  had  said  the  anti- 
christ of  wit,  any  body  would  have  believed  him — and 
yet  this  is  the  very  pulpit  from  which  the  Bossuets 
and  Bourdaloues  used  to  preach.  The  house  was 
filled  almost  entirely  with  women.  One  might  think 
that  none  go  to  heaven  in  this  country  but  the  fair  sex. 
The  worshippers  seem  intent  enough  upon  their  de- 


THE  boulevards. 


37 


votions,  but  the  wide  avenues  at  the  sides  are  filled 
with  a crowd  of  idle,  curious  and  disorderly  specta- 
tors. Give  me  a French  church;  one  walks  in  here 
booted  and  spurred,  looks  at  the  pretty  women  and  the 
pictures,  whistles  a tune,  if  one  chooses,  and  then 
walks  out  again. 

They  have  not  spoiled  the  architectural  beauty  of  St. 
Roch’s  by  pews  and  galleries.  The  walls  are  adorned 
splendidly  with  paintings,  and  here  and  there  are 
groups  of  statuary;  and  the  altar  being  finely  gilt  and 
illuminated  looks  magnificently.  When  I build  a 
church  I will  decorate  it  somewhat  in  this  manner. 
It  is  good  to  imitate  nature  as  much  as  one  can  in  all 
things,  and  she  has  set  us  the  example  in  this,  ^he 
has  adorned  her  great  temple,  the  world,  with  green 
fields  and  fragrant  flowers,  and  its  superb  dome,  the 
firmament,  with  stars.  I walked  in  the  Tuilleries  after 
church,  where  I saw  a great  number  of  naked  statues 
and  pretty  women.  The  pretty  women  were  not 
naked.  I sat  down  awhile  by  the  goddess  of  wisdom;. 
This  is  the  sum  of  my  adventures. 

Oh,  no!  I ventured  also  a walk  last  night  upon  the 
Boulevards,  about  twilight.  How  adorable  is  the 
Madelaine!  While  staring  at  this  church,  (for  staring 
is  the  only  expression  of  countenance  one  pretends  to 
the  first  week  of  Paris,)  a little  girl,  but  not  a little 
graceful  and  pretty,  presented  me  a bouquet.  But,  my 
dear,  I have  no  change.  Mats,  qu^est  ce  qiie  cela 
and  she  turned  it  about  with  her  taper  fingers, 
and  fixed  it  and  unfixed  it,  though  there  were  but 
two  leaves  and  a rose  bud,  and  then  arranged  it  in 
a button  hole,  showing  all  the  while  her  pearly 
teeth  and  laughing  black  eyes.  She  had  the  finesse 
VoL.  L— 4 


38 


SULTANAS  OF  THE  BOULEVARDS. 


to  gain  admiration  for  her  charms  without  seeming 
to  court  it.  We  now  walked  on  a few  steps,  whe^ 
we  met  other  women  of  a richer  attire,  and  of  very 
easy,  unembarrassed  manners,  who  also  said  very 
obliging  things  to  us,  walking  along  side. 

There  is  a kind  of  men  in  New  England,  who  can- 
not be  beaten  out  of  the  dignity  of  a walk;  who  would 
rather  die  than  be  seen  running,  which  is  perhaps  the 
reason  they  won  the  battle  of  Bunker’s  Hill.  Now  if 
you  would  represent  to  yourself  something  very  comi- 
cal, you  must  imagine  my  companion,  straight-laced  in 
his  gravity,  escorted  by  one  of  these  Sultanas  of  the 
Boulevards,  all  betawdried  and  rustling  in  her  silks — 
Mojib  petit  coeur! — Mon  petit  ami! — Venez  done! 
At  last  turning  suddenly  upon  her,  with  a look  and  air 
of  menace  and  expostulation,  he  invoked  her  in  a most 
solemn  manner  to  depart;  though  she  understood  not 
a word  of  the  exorcism  she  obeyed  instantly;  the  ges- 
ture and  tone  being  significant  enough;  and  she  went 
off  as  evil  spirits  do  usually  in  such  cases,  murmuring: 
^Pourqiioi  me  tenir  done  a causer ^ ce  diable  d’homme? 
11  m^a  fait perdre  au  moins  deux  7nessieursP 

We  now  descended  by  the  Rue  St.  Jlnne  towards 
our  lodgings,  talking  as  we  went  to  prevent  thinking 
— for  we  are  both  very  tender  hearted,  so  far  from 
home — he  of  his  Yankee  wife,  how  industrious,  how 
economical,  and  how  she  has  resigned  all  the  inter- 
course and  pleasures  of  the  world,  to  teach  the  little 
children  their  catechism  and  their  astronomy;  and  I of 
our  dear  little  wives  of  Schuylkill,  so  amiable,  so 
cheerful,  tempering  their  duties  with  amusements,  and 
not  forgetting  the  claims  of  society — when  suddenly 
we  observed  in  a dark  corner,  reached  only  by  a few 
rays  of  a distant  lamp,  a queer  old  woman,  seated, 


PARISIAN  LODGINGS. 


39 


her  knees  and  chin  together,  and  rocking  herself  on  a 
chair.  She  rose  up  in  the  face  of  my  companion,  who 
knows  no  French,  with  an  immense  gabble:  Des  de- 
moiselles ires  distingides! — -Julies  cornme  des  anges! 
and  instantly  we  were  hemmed  round  with  a flutter- 
ing troupe  of  the  angels;  but  we  escaped  into  the 
Hotel  des  tdmbassadeurs,  and  locked  our  doors  for 
the  night.  Please  direct  your  letters  to  this  house,  No. 
64,  Rue  St,  Anne. 


Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs,  July  6th,  1835. 

I must  tell  you  how  one  lodges  in  Paris.  A hotel 
is  a huge  edifice  mostly  in  form  of  a parallelogram, 
and  built  around  a paved  court  yard,  which  serves  as 
a landing  for  carriages  as  well  as  for  persons  on  foot, 
and  leads  up  to  the  apartments  by  one  or  more  stair- 
cases. In  the  centre  of  the  front  wall  is  a wide  door 
(a  porte  cochere,)  opening  from  the  street;  and  just 
inside  a lodge  (a  concierge)  and  a porter,  who  wakes 
night  and  day  over  the  concerns  of  the  establishment. 
This  porter  is  an  important  individual,  holding  about 
the  same  place  in  a Paris  hotel  that  Cerberus  holds — 
(I  leave  you  a place  for  the  rhyme.)  He  is  usually 
a great  rogue,  a spy  of  the  government,  and  a shoe- 
maker; cobbles  the  holes  he  makes  in  your  boots,  and 
his  wife  darns  those  she  makes  in  your  stockings. 
He  is  always  a bad  enemy  and  a useful  friend,  and  you 
purchase  his  good  will  by  money  and  condescensions, 
as  a first  minister’s.  He  lets  you  rooms,  he  attends 
them,  receives  parcels,  letters,  messages,  runs  errands, 
answers  your  visits,  and  fines  you  a shilling  if  you 
stay  out  after  twelve;  and  his  relation  with  many 
lodgers  enables  him  to  give  you  these  services,  I am 


40 


THE  PORTER. 


ashamed  to  tell  you  how  cheap.  By  proper  attentions 
also  to  his  wife  there  will  come  to  your  bed  every  morn- 
ing, at  the  hour  you  appoint,  a cup  of  coffee  or  tea, 
and  the  entertainment  of  the  lady^s  conversation  while 
you  sip  it.  Each  story  of  a hotel  is  divided  into  apart- 
ments and  rooms;  that  is,  accommodation  for  whole 
families  or  individuals;  distinction,  and  of  course  price, 
decreasing  upwards.  For  example,  he  who  lives  a 
story  lower  down  thinks  himself  above  you,  and  you 
in  return  consider  him  overhead  below  you.  A 
third  story  in  the  Rue  Castiglione  or  Rivoli  is  equal  in 
rank  to  a second  story  any  where  else. 

The  Porter’s  Lodge  is  a little  niche  about  eight  feet 
square.  It  pays  no  rent,  but  receives  a salary,  usually 
of  sixty  dollars  a year,  from  the  proprietor.  Our  por- 
ter is  a man  of  several  talents.  He  tunes  pianos  for 
ten  sous,  and  plays  at  the  Petit  Lazari”  of  a night 
for  two  francs.  Indeed  his  whole  family  plays;  his 
grandmother  plays  the  Mother  of  the  Gracchi.”  He 
takes  care  too  of  his  wife’s  father,  but  he  dresses  him 
up  as  a Pair  de  France,  or  a Doge,  and  makes  a good 
deal  out  of  him  also.  Besides  he  has  a dog,  which  he 
expects  soon  to  play  the  Chien  de  Montargis,”  he  is 
studying;  and  a magpie  which  plays  already  in  the 

Pie  Voleuse.”  It  is  by  these  several  industries  that 
he  is  enabled  to  clean  my  boots  once  a day,  take  care 
of  my  room,  and  do  all  the  domestic  services  required 
by  a bachelor  at  six  francs  a month;  and  he  has  grown 
into  good  circumstances.  But,  alas!  impartial  fate  that 
knocks  at  the  Porter’s  Lodge,  as  at  the  gates  of  the 
Louvre! — His  only  son,  in  playing  Collin  last  winter, 
a shepherd’s  part  in  a vaudeville,  had  to  wear  a pair 
of  white  muslin  breeches  in  the  middle  of  the  incle- 


MONSIEUR  SMIT. 


41 


ment  season;  he  took  cold  and  died  of  a fluxion  de^ 
poitrine!  The  mother  wept  in  telling  this  story,  and 
then,  some  one  coming  in,  she  smiled. 

One  is  usually  a little  shy  of  these  hotels  at  first 
sight;  especially  if  one  comes  from  the  Broad  Moun- 
tain. You  take  hold  of  an  unwieldy  knocker,  you  lift 
it  up  cautiously,  and  open  flies  the  door  six  inches; 
you  then  push  yourself  through,  and  look  about  with 
a kind  of  a suspicious  and  sheepish  look,  and  you  see 
no  one.  At  length  you  discover  an  individual,  who 
will  not  seem  to  take  the  least  notice  of  you,  till  you 
intrude  rather  far;  then  he  will  accost  you:  Que  de- 
mandez-vous,  Monsieur? — I wish  to  see  Mr.  Smith. 
Monsieur? — Monsieur^  il  ne  demure  pas  ici — Que 
tu  es  bete!  exclaims  the  wife,  c^est  Monsieur  Smit. 
Ouiy  ouij  Old — an  quahneme^  Monsieur^  audessus  de 
V entresol;  and  with  this  information,  of  which  you 
understand  not  a syllable,  you  proceed  up  stairs,  and 
there  you  ring  all  the  bells  to  the  garret;  but  no  one 
knows  Mr.  Smith. 

The  houses  here  are  by  no  means  simple  and  uni- 
form as  with  us.  The  American  houses  are  built,  as 
ladies  are  dressed,  all  one  way.  First,  there  is  a pair  of 
rival  saloons,  which  give  themselves  the  air  of  parlors; 
and  then  there  is  a dining  room,  and  corresponding 
chambers  above  to  the  third  or  fourth  story;  and  an 
entry  runs  through  the  middle  or  alongside  without 
stopping;  at  the  farthest  end  of  which  is  the  kitchen;  so 
that  one  always  stands  upon  the  marble  of  the  front 
door  in  December  until  Kitty  has  travelled  this  dis- 
tance to  let  one  in.  How  many  dinners  frozen  in  their 
own  sauces,  how  many  lovers  chilled,  by  this  refrige- 
ratory process! — Here  if  you  just  look  at  the  knocker, 

4^ 


42 


HABITS  OF  CLIMBING. 


the  door,  as  if  by  some  invisible  hand,  flies  open;  and 
when  you  descend,  if  you  say  Cordon^^  just  as  Ali 
Baba  said  Sesame,’^  the  door  opens  and  delivers  you 
to  the  street.  The  houses  too  have  private  rooms  and 
secret  doors,  and  intricate  passages;  and  one  can  be  said 
to  be  at  home  in  one’s  own  house.  A thief  designing 
to  rob  has  to  study  beforehand  the  topography  of  each 
one,  without  which  he  can  no  more  unravel  it  than  the 
Apocalypse.  There  are  closets  too  and  doors  in  many 
of  the  rooms  unseen  by  the  naked  eye.  Is  a gentle- 
man likely  to  be  intruded  on  by  the  bailiff?  he  sinks 
into  the  earth;  and  a lady,  if  surprised  in  her  dishabille 
or  any  such  emergency,  just  disappears  into  the  wall. 

No  private  dwellings  are  known  in  Paris.  A style 
which  gives  entire  families  and  individuals,  at  a price 
that  would  procure  them  very  mean  separate  lodgings, 
the  air  of  living  in  a great  castle;  and  they  escape  by  it, 
all  that  emulation  about  houses,  and  door  servants,  and 
street  display,  which  brings  so  much  fuss  and  expense 
in  our  cities.  To  climb  up  to  the  second  or  third  story 
is  to  be  sure  inconvenient;  but  once  there  your  climb- 
ing ends.  Parlors,  bed-rooms,  kitchen  and  all  the  rest 
are  on  the  same  level.  Moreover,  climbing  is  a dis- 
position of  our  nature.  In  our  proper  motion  we 
ascend.^’  See  with  what  avidity  we  climb  when  we 
are  boys;  and  we  climb  when  we  are  old,  because  it 
reminds  us  of  our  boyhood.  I have  no  doubt  that  the 
daily  habit  of  climbing  too  has  a good  moral  influence; 
it  gives  one  dispositions  to  rise  in  the  world.  I ought 
to  remark  here  that  persons  in  honest  circumstances 
do  not  have  kitchens  in  their  own  houses. 

It  is  in  favor  of  the  French  style  not  a little  that  it 
improves  the  quality  at  least  of  one  class  of  lodgers. 


MANNER  OF  LIVING. 


43 


Mean  houses  degrade  men’s  habits,  and  lower  their 
opinions  of  living.  As  for  me,  I like  this  Paris  way, 
but  I don’t  know  why.  I like  to  see  myself  under 
the  same  roof  with  my  neighbors.  One  of  them  is  a 
pretty  woman  with  the  prettiest  little  foot  imaginable; 
and  only  think  of  meeting  this  little  foot,  with  which 
one  has  no  personal  acquaintance,  three  or  four  times 
a day  on  the  staircase ! Indeed,  the  solitude  of  a pri- 
vate dwelling  begins  to  seem  quite  distressing.  To  be 
always  with  people  one  knows!  It  paralyses  activity, 
breeds  selfishness  and  other  disagreeable  qualities. 
Solitary  life  has  its  vices  too  as  well  as  any  other. 

On  the  other  hand  a community  of  living  expands 
one’s  benevolent  affections,  begets  hospitality,  mutual 
forbearance,  politeness,  respect  for  public  opinion,  and 
keeps  cross  husbands  from  beating  their  wives,  and 
vice  versa.  If  Xantippe  had  lived  in  a French  hotel, 
she  would  not  have  kept  throwing  things  out  of  the 
window  upon  her  husband’s  head.  The  domestic 
virtues  are  to  be  sure  well  enough  in  their  way;  but 
they  are  dull,  and  unless  kept  in  countenance  by  good 
company,  they  go  too  soon  to  bed.  Indeed  that  word 
^^home,”  so  sacred  in  the  mouths  of  Englishmen,  often 
means  little  else  than  dozing  in  an  arm  chair,  listening 
to  the  squeaking  of  children,  or  dying  of  the  vapors;  at 
all  events  the  English  are  the  people  of  the  world 
most  inclined  to  leave  these  sanctities  of  home.  Here 
they  are  by  hundreds,  running  in  quest  of  happiness 
all  about  Europe. 

But  to  return.  My  object,  in  setting  out,  was  to 
show  you  as  nearly  as  possible  my  manner  of  living 
in  the  street  of  St  Anne.  I have  a chambre  de  gargon 
au  second;  this  means  a bachelor’s  room  in  the  third 


44 


FRENCH  CLEANLINESS. 


story.  As  companions  I have  General  Kellerman, 
and  a naked  Mars  over  the  chimney  (not  Mademoi- 
selle,) and  a littte  Bonaparte  about  three  inches  long; 
and  on  a round  table,  with  a marble  cover,  there  are 
an  old  Rabelais  and  a Seneca’s  Maxims,  with  manu- 
script notes  on  the  margin,  and  a bible  open  at  Jere- 
miah. The  floor  is  a kind  of  brick  pavement,  upon 
which  a servant  performs  a series  of  rubbings,  every 
morning,  with  a brush  attached  to  his  right  foot;  which 
gives  it  a slippery  and  mahogany  surface.  We  have 
a livery  stable  also  in  the  yard,  and  several  persons 
lodge  here  for  the  benefit  of  the  smell;  it  being  good 
against  the  consumption.  Of  the  staircase  I say- 
nothing  now,  as  I intend  some  day  to  write  a treatise 
upon  French  Staircases.  This  one  has  not  been  wash- 
ed ever,  unless  by  some  accident  such  as  Noah’s  flood. 
Indeed  the  less  one  says  of  French  cleanliness  in  the 
way  of  houses  the  better.  Our  landlady  appears  no 
more  delighted  with  a clean  floor,  than  an  antiquary 
would  be  with  a scoured  shield;  and  there  is  none  of 
the  middling  hotels  of  Paris  that  presumes  to  be  better 
than  this.  I ought  to  remark  here  that  servants  do  not 
run  about  from  one  garret  to  another  as  they  do  in 
America.  A French  servant  is  transmitted  to  pos- 
terity. Our  coachman  says  he  has  been  in  this  family 
several  hundred  years. 

When  one  cannot  travel  in  the  highway  of  life  with 
a fashionable  equipage,  it  is  pleasant  to  steal  along  its 
secret  path  unnoticed.  A great  man  is  so  jostled  by 
the  throng  that  either  he  cannot  think  at  all,  or  in 
gathering  its  silly  admiration,  so  occupied  with  in- 
trigues and  mere  personal  vanities,  that  the  good  quali- 
ties of  his  understanding  are  perverted,  and  he  loses 


FRENCH  SERVANTS. 


45 


at  length  his  taste  for  innocent  enjoyments.  But  tra- 
velling in  this  sober  unambitious  way,  one  may  gather 
flowers  by  the  road  side;  one  has  leisure  for  the  con- 
templation of  useful  and  agreeable  things;  and  is  not 
obliged  to  follow  absurd  fashion,  or  keep  up  trouble- 
some appearances;  and  one  can  get  into  low  company 
Avhen  one  pleases,  without  being  suspected.  Now  I 
can  wander  on  my  short-tailed  nag’^  all  over  the 
country;  I can  get  sometimes  into  a coucou  and  ride 
out  to  St.  Germains,  or  stroll  unconcerned  through  the 
markets  and  ask  the  price  of  fruits;  of  cassolettes, 
muscats  and  jargonelles,  and  of  grapes;  and  I can  eat 
a bunch  or  two  upon  the  pavement,  just  fresh  from 
Fontainbleau;  and  do  a great  many  innocent  things 
which  persons  of  distinction  dare  not  do.  This  is  the 
life  of  those  who  lodge  at  the  Hotel  des  Ambassa- 
deurs.’^ 

Here  are  two  sheets  filled,  with  what  meagre 
events!  and  how  much  below  the  dignity  of  history! 
But  I console  myself  that  trifles,  like  domestic  anec- 
dotes, are  often  the  most  characteristic.  I will  be 
your  Boswell  to  the  city  of  Paris.  Who  knows  but 
I may  fancy  to  make  some  sort  of  a book  from  these 
letters  at  my  return  home.  If  you  think  such  a de- 
sign excusable,  pray,  save  them  from  the  flames.  I 
write  them  as  notes  upon  the  field  of  battle.  They  are 
Cassar’s  Commentaries  with  the  exception  of  the  wit. 


July  7th. 

I went  with  my  Yankee  companion  last  night  to  the 
Grand  Opera;  and  at  the  risk  of  being  enormously 
long,  I am  going  to  add  a postscript;  for  it  is  a wet  day, 
and  I have  no  better  way  to  beguile  the  lazy  twenty- 


46 


THE  GRAND  OPERA. 


four  hours.  They  admit  the  spectators  to  a French 
theatre  in  files  of  two  between  high  railings,  and  under 
the  grim  and  bearded  authority  of  the  police,  which 
prevents  crowding  and  disorder;  and  whoever  wishes 
to  go  in,  not  having  a seat  provided,  makes  tail,’^  as 
they  call  it,  by  entering  the  file  in  the  rear.  A num- 
ber of  speculators  also  stand  in  the  ranks  at  an  early 
hour,  and  sell  out  their  places  at  an  advance  to  the 
more  tardy,  so  that  you  have  always  this  resort  to  ob- 
tain a good  enough  seat.  In  approaching  the  house 
persons  will  offer  you  tickets  Avith  great  importunity 
in  the  streets.  With  one  of  these  which,  by  cheapen- 
ing a little,  I got  at  double  price,  I procured  admission 
to  the  pit. 

Uanalise  de  la  Pilce;voilct  le  programme!  These 
are  two  phrases — meaning  only  the  analysis  and  bill 
of  the  play,  at  two  sous — which  you  will  hear  croak- 
ed with  the  most  obstreperous  discord  through  the 
house,  in  the  intervals  of  the  performance,  to  bring 
out  Monsieur  Auber  and  Scribe,  and  the  Donnas.  It 
is  probably  for  the  same  reason  the  owls  are  permitted 
to  sing  in  the  night,  to  bring  out  the  nightingales. — 
The  opera  last  night  was  Robert  le  Diable,^^ — void 
P ana  Use  de  la  piice. 

There  was  the  representation  of  a grave  yard  and 
a resurrection;  and  the  ghosts,  at  least  two  hundred, 
flocked  out  of  the  ground  in  white  frocks  and  silk 
stockings,  and  they  squeaked  and  gibbered  all  over  the 
stage.  Then  they  asked  one  another  out  to  dance,  and 
performed  the  most  fashionable  ballets  of  their  country, 
certainly,  in  a manner  very  creditable  to  the  other 
world.  And  while  these  waltzed  and  quadrilled, 
another  set  were  entertaining  themselves  with  elegant 


TAGLIONI. 


47 


and  fashionable  amusements;  some  were  turning  sum- 
mersets upon  a new  grave;  others  playing  at  whist 
upon  a tombstone,  and  others  again  were  jumping  the 
rope  over  a winding  sheet;  when  suddenly  they  all 
gave  a screech  and  skulked  into  their  graves;  there 
was  a flutter  through  the  house,  the  music  announ- 
cing some  great  event,  and  at  length  amidst  a burst  of 
acclamations.  Mademoiselle  Taglioni  stood  upon  the 
margin  of  the  scene.  She  seemed  to  have  alighted 
there  from  some  other  sphere. 

I expected  to  be  little  pleased  with  this  lady,  I had 
heard  such  frequent  praises  of  her  accomplishments, 
but  was  disappointed.  Her  exceeding  beauty  sur- 
passes the  most  excessive  eulogy.  Her  dance  is  the 
whole  rhetoric  of  pantomime;  its  movements,  pauses 
and  attitudes  in  their  purest  Attic  simplicity,  chastity 
and  urbanity.  She  has  a power  over  the  feelings 
which  you  will  be  unwilling  to  concede  to  her  art. 
She  will  make  yOur  heart  beat  Avith  joy:  she  will 
make  you  weep  by  the  sole  eloquence  of  her  limbs. 
What  inimitable  grace ! In  all  she  attempts  you  will 
love  her,  and  best  in  that  Avhich  she  attempts  last. 
If  she  stands  still  you  will  wish  her  a statue  that  she 
may  stand  still  always;  or  if  she  moves  you  will  wish 
her  a wave  of  the  sea  that  she  may  do  nothing  but 
that — ^•move  still,  still  so,  and  own  no  other  func- 
tion.^’— To  me  she  appeared  last  night  to  have  filled 
up  entirely  the  illusion  of  the  play — to  have  shuffled 
off  this  gross  and  clumsy  humanity,  and  to  belong  to 
some  more  airy  and  spiritual  world. 

But  my  companion,  who  is  a professor,  and  a little 
ecclesiastical,  and  bred  in  that  most  undancing  coun- 
try, New  England,  was  scandalised  at  the  whole  per- 


48 


TAGLIONI. 


formance.  He  is  of  the  old  school,  and  has  ancient 
notions  of  the  stago,  and  does  not  approve  this  mo- 
dern way  of  holding  the  mirror  up  to  nature.’^  He 
was  displeased  especially  at  the  scantiness  of  the  lady’s 
wardrobe.  I was  borne  farther  south  and  could  better 
bear  it. 

The  art  of  dressing  has  been  carried  often  by  the 
ladies  to  a blameable  excess  of  quantity;  so  much  so, 
that  a great  wit  said  in  his  day,  a woman  was  the 
least  part  of  herself.”  Taglioni’s  sins,  it  is  true,  do 
not  lie  on  this  side  of  the  category;  she  produced  last 
evening  nothing  but  herself — Mademoiselle  Taglioni 
in  the  abstract.  Ovid  would  not  have  complained  of 
her.  Her  lower  limbs  wore  a light  silk,  imitating  na- 
ture with  undistinguishable  nicety,  and  her  bosom  a 
thin  gauze  which  just  relieved  the  eye,  as  you  have 
seen  a fine  fleecy  cloud  hang  upon  the  dazzling  sun. 
But  there  is  no  gentleman  out  of  New  England  who 
would  not  have  grieved  to  see  her  spoilt  by  villanous 
mantuamakers.  She  did  not,  moreover,  exceed  what 
the  courtesy  of  nations  has  permitted,  and  what  is  ne- 
cessary to  the  proper  exhibition  of  her  art. 

They  call  this  French  opera,  the  ^Jicademie  Hoy  ale 
de  Musique^^  also  Frangais^^  in  contradistinction 
with  the  “ Italienf^  finally  the  Grand  Opera this 
latter  name  because  it  has  a greater  quantity  of  thun- 
der and  lightning,  of  pasteboard  seas,  of  paper  snow 
storms,  and  dragons  that  spit  fire;  also  a gorgeousness 
of  wardrobe  and  scenery  not  equalled  upon  any  theatre 
of  Europe  It  is  certain  its  corps  de  ballet’’  can  out- 
dance all  the  world  put  together. 

Mercy ! how  deficient  we  are  in  our  country  in  these 
elegant  accomplishments.  In  many  things  we  are 


THE  GRAND  OPERA. 


49 


still  in  our  infancy^in  dancing  we  are  not  yet  born.  'We 
have,  it  is  true,  our  balanch,'^^  imdi  chasses^^^  diwdi 
back-to-hacks^  and  our  women  do  throw  a great  deal 
of  soul  into  their  little  feet — as  on  a birth-night,^^  or 
an  Eighth  of  January,’’  or  the  like; — but  the  Grand 
Opera,  the  Opera  Frangais,  the  Academie  Royale 
de  Musique!  via  Joi^  c^est  Ih  une  autre  affaire! 
You  have  read,  and  so  has  every  body,  of  the  dancing 
Greeks;”  of  Thespis,  so  described  by  Herodotus,  who 
used  to  dance  on  his  head,  his  feet  all  the  while  dang- 
ling in  the  air;  of  the  ^^Gaditanian  girls,”  so  sung  by 
Anacreon;  of  Hylas,  who  danced  before  Augustus;  of 
the  dancing  Dervishes,”  who  danced  their  religion 
like  our  Shakers;  of  the  pantomimic  dances,  described 
by  Raynal,  and  the  Turkish  Almas,  by  the  sweet 
Mary  Montague;”  and  finally,  every  one  has  heard 
of  the  Age  of  Voltaire,  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  Ves- 
tris” — well,  all  this  is  outdanced  by  Taglioni  and  the 
Grand  Opera. 

This  opera  has  seats  for  two  thousand  spectators, 
besides  an  immense  saloon  (two  hundred  feet  by  fifty) 
where  a great  number  of  fashionables,  to  relieve  their 
ears  from  the  noise  of  the  singing,  promenade  them- 
selves magnificently  during  the  whole  evening,  under 
the  light  of  brilliant  lustres,  and  where  the  walls, 
wainscotted  with  mirrors,  multiply  their  numbers  and 
charms  to  infinity. — I may  as  well  continue  dancing 
through  the  rest  of  this  page. 

Dancing,  you  know,  is  a characteristic  amusement 
of  the  French,  and  you  may  suppose  they  have  ac- 
commodations to  gratify  their  taste  to  its  fullest  extent. 
There  are  elegant  rotundas  for  dancing  in  nearly  all 
the  public  gardens,  as  at  Tivoli,”  Waxhal  d’Ete,” 
VoL.  1.— 5 


50 


THE  GUINGUETTES. 


and  the  Cbaiimiere  de  Mont  Parnasse/’  Besides 
there  are  Guinguettes”  at  every  Barriere;  and  in  the 

Village  Fetes/^  which  endure  the  whole  summer, 
dancing  is  the  chief  amusement;  and  public  ball- 
rooms are  distributed  through  every  quarter  of  Paris, 
suited  to  every  one^s  rank  and  fortune.  The  best  so- 
ciety of  Paris  go  to  the  balls^  of  Ranelah,  Auteuil  and 
St.  Cloud.  The  theatres,  too,  are  converted  into  ball- 
rooms, especially  for  the  masquerades,  from  the  be- 
ginning to  the  end  of  the  Carnival. 

I hired  a cabriolet  and  driver  the  other  night,  and 
went  with  a lady  from  New  Orleans,  to  see  the  most 
famous  of  the  Guinguettes.’^  Here  all  the  little  world 
seemed  to  me  completely  and  reasonably  happy;  be- 
having with  all  the  decency,  and  dancing  with  almost 
the  grace  of  high  life.  We  visited  half  a dozen,  pay- 
ing only  ten  sous  at  each  for  admission.  I must  not 
tell  you  it  was  Sunday  night;  it  is  so  difficult  to  keep 
Sunday  all  alone,  and  without  any  one  to  help  you; 
the  clergy  find  a great  deal  of  trouble  to  keep  it  them- 
selves here,  there  is  so  little  encouragement.  On  Sun- 
day only  these  places  are  seen  to  advantage.  I am 
very  far  from  approving  of  dancing  on  this  day,  if  one 
can  help  it;  but  I have  no  doubt  that  in  a city  like 
Paris,  the  dancers  are  more  taken  from  the  tavern  and 
gin  shops  than  from  the  churches.  I do  not  approve, 
either,  of  the  absolute  denunciation  this  elegant  amuse- 
ment incurs  from  many  of  our  religious  classes  in 
America.  If  human  virtues  are  put  up  at  too  high  a 
price  no  one  will  bid  for  them.  Not  a word  is  said 
against  dancing  in  the  Old  or  New  Testament,  and  a 
great  deal  in  favor.  Miriam  danced,  you  know  how 
prettily;  and  David  danced  before  the  Lord  with  all 


ANTIQUITY  OF  DANCING. 


51 


his  might;’^  to  be  sure  the  manner  of  his  dancing  was 
not  quite  so  commendable,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
our  climates.  If  you  will  accept  classical  authority  I 
will  give  you  pedantry  9 /a  tete.  The  Greeks 

ascribed  to  dancing  a celestial  origin,  and  they  admit- 
ted it  even  amongst  the  accomplishments  and  amuse- 
ments of  their  divinities.  The  Graces  are  represented 
almost  always,  in  the  attitude  of  dancing;  and  Apollo, 
the  most  amiable  of  the  gods,  and  the  god  of  wisdom 
too,  is  called  by  Pindar  the  dancer.’^  Indeed,  I could 
show  you,  if  I pleased,  that  Jupiter  himself  sometimes 
took  part  in  a cotillion,  and  on  one  occasion,  danced  a 
gavot. 

Mf avS^cdvts  OsMVTfs* 

There  it  is  proved  to  you  from  an  ancient  Greek  poet. 
I could  show  you,  too,  that  Epaminondas,  amongst 
his  rare  qualities,  is  praised  by  Cornelius  Nepos  for 
his  skill  in  dancing;  and  that  Themistocles,  in  an  even- 
ing party  at  Athens,  passed  for  a clown  for  refusing  to 
take  a share  in  a dance.  But  it  is  so  foppish  to  quote 
Greek  and  to  be  talking  to  women  about  the  ancients. 
Don’t  say  that  dancing  is  not  a natural  inclination,  or 
I will  set  all  the  savages  on  you  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains; and  I don’t  know  how  many  of  the  dumb  ani- 
mals— especially  the  bears,  who,  even  on  the  South- 
sea  Islands,  where  they  could  not  have  any  relations 
with  the  Academic  Royale  de  Musique,  always  ex- 
press their  extreme  joy.  Captain  Cook  says,  by  this 
agreeable  agitation  of  limbs.  And  if  you  won’t  be- 
lieve all  this,  I will  take  you  to  see  a Negro  holiday 
on  the  Mississippi. — Now  this  is  enough  about  danc- 
ing; it  is  very  late  and  I must  dance  off  to  bed. 

It  is  necessary  to  be  as  much  in  love  with  dancing 


52 


THE  BOULEVARDS. 


as  I am  to  preach  so  pedantically  about  it  as  I have 
in  this  postscript. — Its  enormous  length,  when  you  have 
seen  Mademoiselle  Taglioni,  wants  no  apology.  When 
you  do  see  her,  take  care  her  legs  don’t  get  into  your 
head;  they  kept  capering  in  mine  all  last  night. 


LETTER  III. 


The  Boulevards — Boulevard  Madelaine — Boulevard  des  Capucines— 
Boulevard  Italien — Monsieur  Cardme — Splendid  Cafes — The  Baths 
— Boulevard  Montmartre — The  Shoe-Black — The  Chiffonnier — 
The  Gratteur — The  Commissionnaire — Boulevard  du  Temple — 
Scene  at  the  Ambigh  Comique — Sir  Sydney  Smith — Monsieur  de 
Paris — The  Cafe  Turc — The  Fountains — Recollections  of  the  Bas- 
tille— The  Halle  aux  Bles — The  Bicetre— Boulevard  du  Mont  Par- 
nasse. 


Paris,  July,  1835. 

The  main  street  of  Paris,  and  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable streets  of  the  whole  world,  is  the  Boulevard. 
It  runs  from  near  the  centre  towards  the  east,  and 
coils  around  the  circumference  of  the  city.  Its  adja- 
cent houses  are  large,  black  and  irregular  in  height, 
resembling  at  a distance  battlements  or  turretted  cas- 
tles. Its  course  is  zig-zag,  and  each  section  has  a dif- 
ferent name,  and  different  pursuits;  so  that  it  presents 
you  a new  face  and  character;  a new  and  picturesque 
scene  at  every  quarter  of  a mile.  This  does  not  please, 
at  first  sight,  an  eye  formed  upon  our  Quaker  sim- 
plicity of  Philadelphia,  but  it  is  approved  by  the  gene- 


DESTRUCTION  OF  TREES. 


53 


ral  taste.  Our  Broadways  and  Chestnut  streets  and 
Regent  streets  are  exhausted* at  a single  view;  the 
Boulevard  entertains  all  day.  Its  side-walks  are  de- 
lightfully wide,  and  overshaded  with  elms.  Before 
the  Visits  of  the  Allies  it  had  eight  miles  of  trees;  a 
kind  of  ornament  that  is  held  in  better  esteem  in  Eu- 
ropean than  in  American  cities.  Our  ancestors  took  a 
dislike  to  trees,  from  having  so  much  grubbing  at  their 
original  forests,  and  their  enmity  has  been  infused  into 
the  blood.  To  cut  down  a tree  is  now  a hereditary 
passion;  I have  often  spent  whole  days  in  its  gratuitous 
indulgence.  A squatter  of  the  back  woods  begins  by 
felling  the  trees  indiscriminately;  and  he  is  most 
honored,  as  those  first  Germans  we  read  of  in  Caesar, 
who  has  made  the  widest  devastation  around  his 
dwelling.  Your  Pottsville,  which  ten  years  ago  was 
a forest,  has  to-day  not  a fig  leaf  to  cover  its  naked- 
ness. 

Here  is  a gentleman  just  going  to  Philadelphia,  who 
will  hand  you  this  letter;  I send  also  a map  of  Paris, 
that  I may  have  your  company  on  such  rambles  as  I 
may  chance  to  take  through  the  capital.  To-day  I in- 
vite you  to  walk  upon  the  Boulevards. 

On  the  west  end  is  the  Madelaine  in  full  view  of 
the  street.  While  the  other  monuments  of  Paris  are 
^^dim  with  the  mist  of  years,”  this  stands  like  a new 
dressed  bride  in  white  and  glowing  marble;  its  archi- 
tecture fresh  from  the  age  of  Pericles.  This  church 
became  Pagan  in  the  Revolution;  it  was  for  a while 
the  “Temple  of  Glory,”  and  has  returned  to  the  true 
Catholic  faith.  Three  mornings  of  the  Aveek,  you  will 
find  at  its  feet  half  an  acre  in  urns,  baskets  and  hedges, 
of  all  that  nature  has  prettiest  in  her  magazine  of  floAV- 

5^ 


54 


M.  THIERS. 


ers;  delighting  the  eye  by  their  tasteful  combination 
of  colors,  and  embalmirfg  the  air  with  their  fragrance. 
I am  sorry  you  are  not  a gentleman,  I could  describe 
to  you  so  feelingly  the  flower  girl — her  fichu  too  nar- 
row by  an  inch;  her  frock  rumpled  and  disordered, 
and  hung  upon  her  as  if  by  the  graces.  Her  laughing 
eyes  emulate  the  diamond;  and  love  has  pressed  his 
two  fingers  upon  her  brunette  cheeks.  This  is  the 
Boulevard  Madelaine.  On  the  south  side  a sad  look- 
ing garden  occupies  its  Avhole  length.  I asked  of  a 
Frenchman  whose  it  was;  he  says  it  is  the  Minister 
of  Strange  Affairs.^^  It  is  the  hotel  of  Monsieur  Thiers, 
who  wrote  a book  about  the  Revolution  and  a Trea- 
tise upon  Wigs,^^  and  is  now  Minister  des  affaires 
etranglres,  I do  not  like  him,  this  Mr,  Thiers.  I ex- 
perienced yesterday  some  impudence  and  pertness 
from  one  of  the  clerks  of  his  office;  and  these  under- 
lings, you  know,  represent  usually  the  qualifications  of 
their  masters  in  such  particulars. 

To  leave  Paris  for  London  requires  your  passport 
to  be  signed  at  the  Police  Office,  at  the  American  and 
English  Ambassadors,  and  at  the  French  Minister’s. 
At  the  first  office  you  are  set  down  with  a motley  crew 
upon  a bench,  and  there  you  sit,  like  one  of  those  Vir- 
tues in  front  of  the  Palais  Bourbon,”  often  an  hour 
or  two,  until  your  name  is  called;  and  when  it  is  called 
you  don’t  recognise  it,  and  you  keep  sitting  on  unless 
provided  with  an  interpreter.  There  is  not  any  thing 
in  nature  so  unlike  itself  as  one’s  name  Frenchified — 
even  a monosyllable.  As  for  ^^John,”  it  changes 
genders  altogether  and  becomes  Jean.^^  To  the  last 
three  officers  you  pay  the  valedictory  compliment  of 
thirty  francs,  and  get  their  impudence  into  the  bargain. 


THE  MARCHAND  DES  CHIENS. 


55 


You  will  always  find  persons  about  your  lodgings, 
called  ‘‘fact ears (they  should  be  called  benefactors^ 
who  will  do  all  this  for  you,  for  a small  consideration, 
much  better  than  you  can  do  it  yourself. 

You  are  now  on  the  Boulevard  des  Capucines, 
It  is  raised  about  thirty  feet,  and  the  houses  on  the 
left  side  for  a quarter  of  a mile  are  left  in  the  valley* 
All  the  high  life  here  is  below  stairs.  On  the  right 
side,  you  see  apparently  one  of  the  happiest  of  human 
beings,  the  marchand  des  cliiens^^  who  sells  little 
dogs  and  parrots.  “A  six  francs  ma  canicheP^ — 
“ Margot  a dix  francsP^ — with  a gentle  voice,  half 
afraid  some  one  might  hear  him;  he  has  become  at- 
tached to  his  animals  and  feels  a sorrow  to  part  with 
them.  lie  feels  as  you  for  your  chickens  you  have  fed 
every  day,  when  you  must  kill  them  for  dinner. 
Poor  little  Azor,  and  Zemire!  Only  think  of  seeing 
them  no  more ! He  sells  them  a few  francs  cheaper, 
when  the  purchaser  is  rich  and  likely  to  treat  them 
well.  The  French,  especially  the  women,  dote  upon 
dogs  beyond  the  example  of  all  other  nations,  and  yet 
have  the  nastiest  race  of  curs  upon  the  earth.  A dog, 
they  say,  loves  his  master  the  more  he  is  a vagabond, 
and  the  French  in  return  love  their  dogs  the  more  they 
are  shabby.  What  I would  give  for  a few  of  those 
eloquent  bom  wows,  which  resound  in  the  night  from 
an  American  barmyard,  and  which  protect  so  se- 
curely one’s  little  wife  from  the  thieves  and  the  lovers 
while  the  husband  is  wandering  in  foreign  lands. 

Take  otf  your  hat;  this  is  one  of  the  choice  and  pre- 
eminent spots  of  the  French  capital;  the  very  seat  al- 
most of  the  pleasures  and  amusements  of  Europe;  it 
is  the  Boulevard  Italieii,  It  is  here  that  gentlemen 


56 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAREME. 


and  ladies,  when  the  labors  of  the  day  have  closed 
and  not  a care  intrudes  to  distract  the  mind  from  the 
great  business  of  deglutition  and  digestion,  assemble  of 
an  evening  to  discuss  the  immense  importance  of  a good 
dinner.  Men  make  splendid  reputations  here  which 
live  after  them  by  the  invention  of  a single  soup.  It 
is  here  they  make  the  sauces  in  which  one  might  eat 
his  own  grandfather.  This  place  was  respected  by 
the  holy  Alliance;  and  Lord  Wellington  in  1815 
pitched  his  Marquee  upon  the  Boulevard  Italien. 

It  is  in  vain  to  expect  perfection  in  an  art  unless 
we  honor  those  who  exercise  its  functions.  Mon- 
sieur Careme,  (whom  I mention  for  the  sake  of  honor, 
and  who  lives  close  by  here  in  the  Rue  Lafitte,)  now 
cook  to  the  Baron  Rothschild  and  ex-cook  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  is  one  of  the  most  considerable  per- 
sons of  this  age;  holding  a high  gentlemanly  rank,  and 
living  in  an  enviable  condition  of  opulence  and  splen- 
dor. He  keeps  his  carriage,  takes  his  airings  of  an 
evening,  has  his  country  seat,  and  his  box  at  the  opera; 
and  has  indeed  every  attribute  requisite  to  make  a 
gentleman  in  almost  an 3^  country.  The  number  of 
officers  attached  to  his  staff  is  greater  than  of  any  gen- 
eral of  the  present  regime;  his  assistant  roaster  has  a 
salary  above  our  President  of  the  United  States.  It 
is  by  this  honorable  recompense  of  merit  tliat  through 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  various  fortunes,  France  has 
still  maintained  unimpaired  her  great  prerogative  of 
teaching  the  nations  how  to  cook. 

Monsieur  de  Careme  is  worthy  a particular  notice. 
He  had  an  ancestor  who  was  ^^chef  de  cuisine,^^  of 
the  Vatican,  and  invented  a soupe  maigre  for  his 
Holiness;  and  another,  who  was  cook  to  the  Auto- 


IMPORTANCE  OF  COOKERY. 


57 


cratrix  of  all  the  Russias.  How  talents  do  run  in  some 
families!  Himself,  having  served  an  apprenticeship 
under  an  eminent  artist  of  the  Boulevard  Italien,  he 
invented  a sauce  piquante^  when  quite  a young  man; 
and  by  a regular  cultivation  of  his  fine  natural 
powers,  he  has  reached  a degree  of  perfection  in  his 
art,  which  has  long  since  set  envy  and  rivalship  at 
defiance.  The  truth  is  that  a great  cook  is  as  rare  a 
miracle  as  a great  poet.  It  is  well  known  that  Claude 
Lorraine  could  not  succeed  in  pastry  with  all  his 
genius. 


“ Et  Balzac  et  Malherbe  si  savans  en  bon  mots, 

En  cuisine  peut-etre  n’aurait  ete  que  des  sots.” 

To  whom,  think  you,  does  the  British  nation  owe 
those  Attic  suppers,  those  feasts  of  the  gods,  which  so 
surprised  the  Allied  Monarchs,  and  brought  so  much 
glory  upon  his  late  majesty?  To  Monsieur  de  Careme; 
and  to  whom  do  you  think  the  Baron  Rothschild  owes 
those  clear  and  unclouded  faculties  with  which  he  out- 
financiers  all  Europe  and  America?  Certes,  to  Mon- 
sieur de  Careme.  All  the  Baron  has  to  do  is  to  dine; 
digestion  is  done  by  his  cook.  Careme  has  refused 
invitations  to  nearly  every  European  court;  and  it  was 
only  upon  the  most  urgent  solicitations  that  he  con- 
sented to  reside  eight  months  at  Carlton  House;  a por- 
tion of  his  life  upon  which  he  looks  back  with  much 
displeasure  and  repentance,  and  the  remnant  of  his 
days  he  designs  to  consecrate  with  the  greater  zeal  on 
this  account  to  the  honor  and  interests  of  his  native 
country.  He  is  now  preparing  a digest  of  his  art, 
after  the  manner  of  the  Code  Napoleon;  and  eminent 


58 


EVENING  PROMENADE. 


critics,  to  whom  he  has  communicated  his  work,  pro- 
nounce it  excellent  both  for  its  literary  and  culinary 
merits. 

To  this  Boulevard  also  the  sweetmeat  part  of  the  crea- 
tion resort  about  twilight  to  their  creams  and  lemon- 
ades and  eau  sucree.  They  seat  themselves  upon 
both  margins  of  the  trottoir  upon  chairs,  leaving  an 
interval  between  for  the  successive  waves  of  pedes- 
trians, who  are  also  attracted  hither  by  the  fashion  and 
elegance  of  the  place.  How  charming,  of  a summer 
evening,  to  sit  you  down  here  uponnne  chair  and  put 
your  feet  upon  another,  and  look  whole  hours  away 
upon  this  little  world;  or  to  walk  up  and  down  and 
eye  the  double  row  of  belles  seated  amidst  the  splen- 
dor of  the  gas-lamps,  and  who  seem  very  sorry  not  to 
have  lived  at  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines.  In  this  group 
are  examples  of  nearly  all  that  is  extant  of  the  human 
species.  I have  seen  a Bedouin  of  the  Mer  Rouge 
stumble  upon  a great  ambassador  from  the  Neva;  and 
a Mandarin  of  the  Loo-koo  run  foul  of  an  ex-school- 
master  of  the  Mahantongo.  If  any  one  is  missing 
from  your  mines  of  Shamoken,  come  hither  and  you 
will  find  him  seated  on  a straw-bottomed  chair  on  the 
Boulevard  Italien. 

These  splendid  cafes  are  multiplied  by  mirrors,  and 
being  open,  or  separated  only  by  pannels  of  glass,  ap- 
pear to  form  but  a single  tableau  with  the  street,  and 
those  outside  and  in,  seem  parts  of  the  same  company. 
I recommend  you  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  the  Cafe  Hardi, 
the  Cafe  Veron,  if  you  wish  to  mix  with  the  fashion- 
able and  merry  world;  if  with  the  business  world; 
with  the  great  bankers,  the  millionaires,  the  noblesse 
de  la  Bourse,  who  smooth  their  cares  with  fat  dinners 


TORTONi’s. 


59 


and  good  wines,  where  else  in  the  world  should  you 
go  but  to  TortonVs?  There  are  not  two  Tortonis  upon 
the  earth.  A dinner  you  may  get  at  the  Rocher  Can- 
cale,  but  a breakfast! — it  is  to  be  had  nowhere  in  all 
Europe  out  of  Tortoni’s.  The  ladies  of  high  and 
fashionable  life  stop  here  before  the  door,  and  are  serv- 
ed with  ices  by  liveried  waiters  elegantly  in  their 
barouches;  they  cannot  think  of  venturing  in,  there 
are  so  many  more  gentlemen  outside.  You  will  see 
here  both  in  and  out,  the  most  egregious  cockneys  of 
Europe,  the  beaux  Brummels  and  the  beaux  Nashes, 
the  Flashes,’’  and  Full-Swells”  of  London  town, 
and  in  elegant  apposition  the  Parisian  exquisites.  Was 
there  ever  anything  so  beautiful! — No,  (Thonneur. 
His  boots  are  of  Evrat,  his  coat  Staub,  vest  Moreau, 
gloves  and  cravat  Walker,  and  hat  Bandoni;  and  Mrs, 
Frederic  is  his  washerwoman!  You  will  please  give 
the  superiority  to  the  French.  To  make  an  elegant 
fop  is  more  than  the  barber’s  business;  nature  herself 
must  have  a finger  in  the  composition.  Besides,  if  a 
man  is  born  a fool,  he  is  a greater  fool  in  Paris  than 
elsewhere,  there  are  such  opportunities  for  acquire- 
ment. 

These  are  the  French  people.  Don’t  you  hate  to 
see  so  many  ninnies  in  mustachios?  If  I had  not  the 
great  Marlborough,  and  Bonaparte,  and  Apollo,  on 
my  side,  all  three  unwhiskered,  I would  go  home  in 
the  next  packet.  The  moment  one  has  made  one’s 
debut  here  in  the  world  of  beards,  one  is  a man,  and 
there  is  no  manhood,  founded  on  any  other  preten- 
sions, that  can  dispense  with  this  main  qualification. 
It  is  the  one  eminent  criterion  of  all  merit;  it  is  a di- 
ploma; a bill  of  credit  as  current  as  in  the  days  of 


60 


PARISIAN  BATHS. 


Albuquerque;  it  is  promotion  in  the  army,  in  the 
diplomacy,  even  in  the  church;  you  cannot  be  a saint 
without  this  grisly  recommendation.  One  loves  the 
women  just  because  they  have  no  beards  on  their 
faces. 

Otherwise — h la  barbe  pris — the  French  are  well 
enough.  It  is  the  same  kind  of  population,  nearly, 
that  one  meets  by  the  gross  in  New  York  and  every 
where  else.  I looked  about  for  Monsieur  Dablancour, 
but  could  see  nothing  of  him.  In  a foreign  country 
a man  is  always  a caricature  of  himself  The  French 
are  here  in  their  own  element,  and  swim  in  it  naturally. 
One  is  always  awkward  from  the  very  sense  of  not 
knowing  foreigncustoms;  and  always  ridiculous  abroad 
because  every  thing  is  ridiculous  which  departs  from 
common  and  inveterate  habit,  and  nothing  is  ridicu- 
lous which  conforms  with  it.  In  a nation  of  apes  it 
is  becoming  to  be  an  ape.  If  you  place  a man  of 
sense  in  a company  of  fools,  it  is  the  man  of  sense 
who  is  embarrassed  and  looks  foolish.  If  one  travel- 
led into  Timbuctoo  I presume  one  would  feel  very 
foolish  for  being  white. 

But  this  is  not  all  that  is  worth  your  attention  on 
the  Boulevard  Italien.  If  you  love  baths  of  oriental 
luxury,  here  are  the  Bains  Chinois  just  opposite. 
Personal  cleanliness  is  the  French  virtue  par  excel- 
lence, Bathing  in  other  countries  is  a luxury,  in 
France  a necessity.  Hot  baths  as  good  as  your  sat 
Swaim’s  are  at  fifteen  sous.  The  Bains  Vigiers  at 
twenty  sous  a bath  made  their  proprietor  a count. 
You  can  have  baths  here  simple  and  compound,  in- 
odorous and  aromatic,  with  cold  or  warm,  or  clarified 
or  Seine  water;  and  you  have  them  with  naked  floors 


PRETTY  SHOPWOMEN. 


61 


and  iingarnished  walls,  and  with  all  the  luxury  of 
tapestry  and  lounges;  baths  double  and  single,  with 
and  without  attendance,  with  a whole  skin,  or  flayed 
alive  with  friction.  And  besides  these  baths  ordinary 
and  extraordinary — Russian,  Turkish,  and  Chinese — 
you  have  baths  specific  against  all  human  infirmities; 
baths  alcalic,  sulphurous,  fumigatory,  oleaginous,  and 
anti-phlogistic.  All  the  mineral  waters  of  Europe 
pour  themselves  at  your  feet  in  the  middle  of  Paris. 
Spa,  Seltzer,  Barege,  Aix-la-chapelle  and  G insnack; 
manufactured,  every  one  of  them,  in  the  street  of  the 
University,  Gros  Caillou,  No.  21.  And  this  is  not  all; 
there  is  the  ambulatory  bath,^^  which  walks  into 
your  bed-side,  and  embracing  you  walks  out  again,  at 
thirty  sous.  C^est  un  vrai  pays  de  Cocagne,  que  ce 
Paris.^ 

And  if  you  love  gew-gaws,  gingumbobs,  and  pretty 
shop  girls,  why,  here  they  are  at  the  Bazaar.  The 
French  take  care,  as  no  other  people,  to  furnish  such 
places  with  pretty  women,  and  they  turn  their  influ- 
ence, as  women,  to  the  account  of  the  shop.  The  En- 
glish, I have  heard,  put  all  their  deformities  into  their 
bazaars,  that  customers,  they  say,  may  attend  to  the 
other  merchandise.  The  French  way  is  the  more 
sensible.  I have  been  ruined  already  several  times  by 
the  same  shop  girl — caressing  and  caressing  each  of 
one’s  fingers,  as  she  tries  on  a pair  of  gloves  one  don’t 
want. 

Or  if  you  love  the  fine  arts,  where  are  all  the  print- 
shops  of  Paris?  Why,  here.  You  can  buy  here  Calyp- 
sos  and  Cleopatras  all  naked,  with  little  French  faces; 
and  Scipios  and  Caesars,  and  other  marshals  of  the 
Empire,  from  any  price  down  to  three  sous  a piece. 
VoL.  I.— 6 


62 


ARTICLES  OF  MERCHANDISE. 


Finally,  if  you  love  the  best  pales  in  this  world,  we 
will  just  step  over  into  the  Passage  Panorama  to 
Madame  Felix’s — Sweet  Passage  Panorama!  How 
often  have  I walked  up  and  down  beneath  the  crystal 
roof  as  the  dusky  evening  came  on,  with  arms  folded, 
and  ill  the  narcotic  influence  of  a choice  Havana,  for- 
gotten all — all  but  that  a yawning  gulf  lies  between 
me  and  my  friends  and  native  country. 

Give  a sou  to  this  little  Savoyard  with  the  smiling 
face,  who  sweeps  the  crossings.  ‘‘  Jih^  Madame^  re- 
gardez  dans  votre  petite  pochesi  vous  rdavez  pas  tin 
petit  sou  a rne  donnerP^  How  can  you  refuse  him? 
If  you  do  he  will  make  you  just  the  same  thankful  bow 
in  the  best  forms  of  French  courtesy. 

We  are  now  on  the  Boulevard  Montmartre,  Here 
are  cashmeres  and  silks  from  Arabia;  merinos  veri- 
table harbe  de  Pacha^  chalys,  a mousseline  Thibet, 
Pondicherry,  uniset  broche,  and  pocket  handkerchiefs 
at  two  sous. — Ah,  come  along!  And  here  are  six 
pairs  of  ladies’  legs,  showing  at  the  window  the  silk 
stockings.  How  gracefully  gartered!  And  from  above 
how  the  white  curtain  falls  down  modestly  in  front 
almost  to  the  knee.  Don’t  be  in  such  a hurry! — they 
are  twice  as  natural  as  living  legs!  And.  here  are 
dolls  brevetted  by  the  king,  and  milliners  d prix  Jixe^ 
at  a fixed  price,  and  here  is  M.  Dutosq  fabricant  de 
sac  en  papier^  manufacturer  of  little  paper-bags-to-put- 
pepper-in  to  his  majesty;  and  Madame  Raggi,  who 
lets  out  Venuses  and  other  goddesses  to  the  draw- 
ing-schools, at  two  sous  an  hour.  And  look  at  this 
shop  of  women’s  ready  made  articles.  Here  one 
can  be  dressed  cap-a-pie  for  four  francs  and  eleven 
centimes — (three  quarters  of  a dollar,) — frock,  petti- 


THE  MODERN  SHOPKEEPER. 


63 


coat,  fichu,  bonnet,  stockings  and  chemise! — I should 
like  to  see  any  woman  go  naked  in  Paris.  A student 
also,  can  buy  here  a library  on  the  street  from  a quar- 
ter of  a mile  of  books,  at  six  sous  a volume.  I have 
just  bought  Rousseau  in  calf,  octavo,  at  ten  sous! 

Since  the  last  Revolution  commerce  has  taken  a new 
spirit;  the  bourgeois  blood  has  got  uppermost.  The 
greatest  barons  now  are  the  Rothschilds,  and  the  great- 
est ministers  the  Lafittes.  The  style,  too,  has  risen  to 
the  level  of  the  new  bureaucratic  nobility.  The  shop- 
keeper of  these  times  is  at  your  service,  a co7nmergant^ 
his  ^^boutiqiie’’  is  a magazin,  his  ^^contoir”  his  bureau ^ 
and  his  pratique’^  his  clientelle.  Even  the  signs,  as 
you  see,  speak  a magnificent  language.  It  is  the 

Magazin  du  Doge  de  Venise,^^  or  ‘‘  Magazin  du 
Zodiaque^^ — ^‘des  Vepres  Siciliennes^'^^  or  Grand 
Magazin  de  Nouveaute^  And  if  the  Doge  of 
Venice  is  selling  out  cheap’’  the  language  is  of  course 
worthy  of  a Doge;  it  is  au  rabais  par  cessation  de 
comMerceP  The  Bourse  is  now  a monument  of  the 
capital,  and  disputes  rank  with  the  Louvre.  The 

petit  Marquis”  is  the  banker’s  son,  and  the  marshals 
of  the  empire  are  sold  second  hand!”  in  the  frippery 
market. 

I intended  to  write  you  in  English,  but  the  French 
creeps  in  in  spite  of  me;  I shall  be  as  hermaphrodite  as 
my  Lady  Morgan. 

This  is  one  of  the  prettiest  of  the  Boulevards,  and  you 
will  see  here  a great  many  fine  women  en  promenade 
of  a morning,  about  twelve.  When  a French  lady 
walks  out  she  always  takes  atone  side  her  canichehY 
a string,  and  at  the  other,  sometimes,  her  beau  without 
a string.  In  either  way  she  monopolises  the  whole 


64 


MORNING  WALKS. 


street,  and  you  are  continitally  getting  between  her 
and  the  puppy  very  much  to  your  inconvenience;  for 
if  you  offend  the  dog  the  mistress  is  of  course  implaca- 
ble, and  you  very  likely  have  to  meet  her  gallant  in 
the  Forest  of  Bondy,  next  morning.  But  you  can  turn 
this  evil  sometimes  to  advantage.  If  you  see,  for 
instance,  a pretty  woman  alone,  with  her  curry  com- 
panion, you  can  just  walk  on  commercing  with  the 
skies  till  the  lady  gets  one  side  of  you  and  the  dog  the 
other;  this  will  give  you  the  opportunity  of  begging 
her  pardon,  of  patting  and  stroking  the  dog  a little;  it 
may  break  the  ice  towards  an  acquaintance,  or  if  the 
place  be  convenient  to  fall,  you  had  better  let  her  trip 
you  up,  and  then  she  will  be  very  sorry. — If  you 
think  it  is  a little  thing  to  get  a pretty  woman’s  pity 
on  your  side,  you  are  very  much  mistaken. 

Let  me  introduce  you  to  this  shoe-black.  He  has, 
as  you  see,  a little  box,  a brush  or  two  in  it,  and  black- 
ing, and  a fixture  on  top  for  a foot;  this  is  his  fend  de 
boutique^  his  stock  in  trade.  He  brushes  off  the  mud 
to  the  soles  of  your  feet,  and  shows  you  your  own 
features  in  your  boots  for  three  sous.  This  one  has 
just  dissolved  an  ancient  firm,  and  his  advertisement, 
which  he  calls  a prospectus,’’  standing  here  so  prim 
upon  a board,  announces  the  event.  The  partnership 
is  dissolved,  but  the  whole  personnel,”  he  says,-of 
the  establishment  remains  with  the  present  proprietor; 
and  M.  Baradaque,  ex-partner,  has  also  the  honor  to 
inform  us  that  he  has  transported  the  appareil  de 
son  etablissement^^  to  the  Place  de  la  Bourse,  line 
des  plus  jolies  locations  de  la  ville^  The‘^Decrot- 
teur  en  chef,”  at  the  Palais  Royal,  and  other  places 
of  fashion,  has  his  assistants,  and  serves  a dozen  or 


THE  CHIFFONNIER. 


65 


two  of  customers  at  a time.  He  has  a shop  furnished 
with  cloth-covered  benches  in  amphitheatre,  as  at  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  with  a long  horizontal  iron  sup- 
port for  the  foot,  and  pictures  are  hung  around  the 
walls.  0?i  dit^  monsieur^  que  c’est  d^aprhs  Teniers 
— celui,  monsieur?  c^est  apres  Vandykc^^  and  there 
are  newspapers  and  reviews;  so  that  to  polish  a 
gentleman’s  boots  and  his  understanding  are  parts  of 
the  same  process. 

There  is  a variety  of  other  little  trades,  and  indus- 
tries, which  derive  their  chief  means  of  life  from  the 
wants  and  luxuries  of  this  street;  which  I may  as 
well  call  to  your  notice  en passant;  I mean  trades  that 
are  tout  Parisiennes;^^  that  is  to  say,  unknown 
in  any  other  country  than  Paris.  You  will  see  an  in- 
dividual moving  about  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  silent 
and  active,  and  seeing  the  smallest  bit  of  paper  in  the 
dark,  where  you  can  see  nothing;  and  with  a hook  in 
the  end  of  a stick,  picking  it  up,  and  pitching  it  Avith 
amazing  dexterity  into  a basket  tied  to  his  left  shoul- 
der; with  a cat-like  walk,  being  every  where  and  no 
where  at  the  same  time,  stirring  up  the  rubbish  of 
every  nook  and  gutter  of  the  street,  under  your  very 
nose;— this  is  the  chiffonnier.  He  is  a very  important 
individual.  He  is  in  matter  what  Pythagoras  Avas  in 
mind;  and  his  transformations  are  scarcely  less  curious 
than  those  of  the  Samian  sage.  The  beau  by  his  pains, 
peruses  once  again  his  dicky  or  cravat,  of  a morning, 
in  the  Magazin  des  Modes,”  Avhilst  the  politician  has 
his  breeches  reproduced  in  the  Journal  des  Debats;” 
and  many  a fine  lady  pours  out  her  soul  upon  a billet- 
doux  that  once  was  the  dishclout.  The  chiffonnier 
stands  at  the  head  of  the  little  trades,  and  is  looked  up 

6^ 


66 


THE  GRATTEUR. 


to  with  envy  by  the  others.  He  has  two  coats,  and  wears 
on  holidays  a chain  and  quizzing-glass,  and  washes 
his  hands  with/;^/^  dPamand,  He  rises  too,  like  the 
Paris  gentry,  when  the  chickens  roost,  and  when  the 
lark  cheers  the  morning,  goes  to  bed.  All  the  city  is 
divided  into  districts  and  let  out  to  these  chifFonniers  by 
the  hour;  to  one  from  ten  to  eleven,  and  from  eleven  to 
twelve  to  another,  and  so  on  through  the  night;  so  that 
several  get  a living  and  consideration  from  the  same 
district.  This  individual  does  justice  to  the  literary 
compositions  of  the  day;  he  crams  into  his  chijfonnerie 
indiscriminately  the  last  Vaudeville,  the  last  sermon 
of  the  Archbishop,  and  the  last  eloge  of  the  Academy. 

Just  below  him  is  the  Grattexir,  This  artist 
scratches  the  live  long  day  between  the  stones  of  the 
pavement  for  old  nails  from  horses’  shoes  and  other 
bits  of  iron — always  in  hopes  of  a bit  of  silver,  and 
even  perhaps,  a bit  of  gold;  more  happy  in  his  hope 
than  a hundred  others  in  the  possession.  He  has  a 
store  in  the  Faubourgs,  where  he  deposits  his  ferugi- 
nous  treasure;  his  wife  keeps  this  store,  and  is  a ^^Mar- 
chand  de  Fer.”  He  maintains  a family  like  another 
man;  one  or  two  of  his  sons  he  brings  up  to  scratch 
for  a living,  and  the  other  he  sends  to  a college;  and 
he  has  a lot  in  perpetuity,”  in  Pere  la  Chaise.  His 
rank  is,  however,  inferior  to  the  Chiffonnier,  who  will 
not  give  him  his  daughter  in  marriage,  and  he  don’t 
ask  him  to  his  soirees. 

In  all  places  of  much  resort  you  will  see  an  indi- 
vidual, broad  shouldered,  and  whiskered,  looking  very 
affable  and  officious,  especially  upon  strangers — most- 
ly about  grocer-stores,  and  street  corners.  Let  me 
introduce  you  to  him,  also.  He  wants  to  carry  your 


THE  COMMISSIONNAIRE. 


67 


letters,  and  run  errands  for  you  from  one  end  of  Paris 
to  the  other.  He  will  carry  also  your  wood  to  your 
room,  a billetdoux  to  your  mistress,  and  your  boots  to 
the  cobbler’s,  and,  for  a modest  compensation,  perform 
any  service  that  one  person  may  require  of  another — 
also,  as  you  see,  a very  important  individual.  Indeed 
he  holds  amongst  men  nearly  the  same  place  that  Mer- 
cury holds  amongst  the  gods.  About  his  neek  he  wears 
a brass  medal,  polished  bright  as  honor;  at  once  his 
badge  of  office,  and  pledge  of  fidelity.  If  you  seem  to 
doubt  his  honesty,  he  points  to  his  medal,  and  holds 
up  his  head;  that^s  enough. — If  only  the  Peers  could 
point  to  their  decorations  with  the  same  confidence ! 
If  you  walk  out  in  the  bright  day,  not  being  a Pari- 
sian, you  are  of  course  overtaken  by  the  rain : for  a 
Paris  sunshine  and  shower  are  as  close  together  as  a 
babe’s  smiles  and  tears:  and  then  you  just  step  into  a 
Cabinet  de  lecture,”  and  you  have  not  read  the  half 
worth  of  your  sou,  when  your  coat  has  embraced  you, 
and  your  umbrella  is  between  you  and  the  merciless 
Heavens. — This  is  the  commissionnaire,  I should 
have  noticed  among  the  little  industries  the  Broker  of 
theatrical  pleasures;”  he  sells  the  pass  of  A,  who  re- 
tires early,  to  B,  who  goes  in  late;  and  the  Clacqueur, 
who  for  two  or  three  francs  a night  applauds  or  hisses 
the  new  plays.  But  we  must  get  on  with  our  journey. 

Here  on  the  Boulevard  Poissonniere^  or  near  it, 

resides  Mr. of  New  Jersey;  he  has  been  sent 

over  (hapless  errand!)  to  convert  these  French  people 
to  Christianity.  He  is  a very  clever  man,  and  we 
will  ask  if  he  is  yet  alive;  the  journals  of  this  morn- 
ing say  three  or  four  missionaries  have  been  eat  up 
by  the  Sumatras. 


68 


BOULEVARD  DU  TEMPLE. 


This  is  the  famous  Arch  of  Triumph  of  the  Porte 
St.  Denis.  It  compliments  Louis  XIV  on  his  passage 
of  the  Rhine  in  1672,  and  is  the  counterpart  of  the 
Napoleon  Arch  at  the  Barriere  de  PEtoile.  It  is 
seventy-two  feet  high,  and  has  at  each  side  an  obe- 
lisque  supported  by  a lion,  and  decorated  with  tro- 
phies. That  fat  Dutch  woman  at  the  left  base  stands 
for  Holland,  and  that  vigorous,  muscular  looking  man 
on  the  right  is  deputy  to  the  Rhine  ^ and  that  over- 
head on  horseback  is  great  baby  LouisP^ 

We  have  now  left  the  fashionable  world  at  our 
heels — this  is  the  Boulevard  da  Temple,  This  Bou- 
levard a few  years  ago  was  a delightful  and  romantic 
walk  of  an  evening.  But  noise  and  business  have  now 
violated  all  the  secret  retreats,  one  after  another,  of 
Paris,  and  there  is  no  spot  left  of  the  great  capital, 
in  which  you  can  hear  your  own  voice.  There  were 
here  before  the  Revolution  five  theatres,  and  the  lists 
of  fame  are  crowded  with  the  theatrical  celebrities, 
which  drew  the  homage  of  the  whole  city  to  this 
street.  This  is  the  only  spot  in  the  world  that  has 
furnished  clowns  for  posterity;  Baron  and  Lekain 
are  hardly  more  fresh  in  the  memory  of  man  than 
Galimafre  and  Bobeche.  This  was  the  theatre  of 
their  triumphs.  It  was  here,  too,  that  the  world  came 
to  see  a living  skeleton  of  eight  pounds,  and  his  wife 
of  eight  hundred;  that  men,  to  the  great  astonishment 
of  our  ancestors,  swallowed  carving  knives,  and  boil- 
ing oil,  that  turkeys  danced  quadrilles,  and  fleas  drove 
their  coaches  and  six;  and  it  was  here  that  Made- 
moiselle Rose  stood  on  her  head  on  a candlestick. 
There  are  yet  six  theatres  here,  but  the  street  once 
so  adorned  with  gardens  and  equipages  and  fashion- 


UNADULTERATED  FRENCHMEN.  69 

able  ladies,  and  an  infinity  of  other  attractions’,  is 
now,  alas,  built  up  with  gaunt  houses,  and  differs 
scarcely  from  the  other  Boulevards. 

The  simplicity  of  original  manners  is,  however,  won- 
derfully preserved  in  this  district.  The  more  fashion- 
able parts  are  so  filled  with  strangers — with  parasite 
plants,  that  you  can  scarcely  distinguish  the  indige- 
nous population.  This  is  the  true  classical  and  tradi- 
tional district;  the  only  place  you  can  find  unadulter- 
ated Frenchmen.  The  inhabitant  of  this  quarter  has 
rather  more  than  a French  share  of  embonpoint,  and 
aims  at  dignity,  and  his  whiskers  leave  a part  of  his 
chin  uncovered;  his  clothes  are  large  and  fine  in  tex- 
ture; he  carries  an  umbrella,  and  on  fete  days  a cane 
to  give  him  an  important  air  and  keep  off  the  dogs. 
If  it  rains  he  takes  a fiacre;  he  keeps  by  him  his  certi- 
ficate of  marriage  and  extrait  de  bateme,^^  and  has 
not  got  over  the  prejudice  of  being  born  in  lawful 
wedlock.  His  wife  is  pretty  but  not  handsome;  her 
features  are  regular  and  face  plump;  indeed  she  is 
plump  all  over.  He  loves  this  wife  by  instinct ; she 
keeps  his  books,  and  he  asks  her  advice  in  all  his 
business;  she  suckles  his  children  and  gives  him  tisane 
when  he  is  sick. 

I saw  this  individual  and  his  wife  together  a few 
evinings  ago  at  the  Ambigu  Comique.  I sometimes  go 
to  this  theatre  and  the  gaite  and  the  Cirque  Olimpique. 
A vicious  student  was  tempted  every  now  and  then  to 
pinch  Madame  behind.  She  bore  it  impatiently  indeed, 
but  silently  for  some  time.  Qu^est-ce  que  tu  as? — 
Qu^as  tit  donc^  ma  femme?^^  At  last  she  communi- 
cated to  her  husband  the  fact.  He  immediately  grew 
a foot  taller  upon  his  seat;  and  then  he  looked  at  the 
young  man  from  head  to  foot,  with  one  of  those  looks 


70 


MARKET  FOR  FRIPPERY. 


which  mean  so  much  more  than  words.  Not  wishing, 
however,  to  disturb  the  play,  he  contained  himself, 
only  riggling  on  his  seat,  and  eyeing  him  occasionally, 
to  the  end  of  the  act,  and  then  he  got  up.  Quoij 
monsieur^  said  he,  vous  avez  Virnperlinence  depincer 
les  Jesses  de  Madaine?^^  and  then  thrusting  his  tongue 
into  the  lower  lip,  he  put  on  an  expression,  such  as 
you  will  never  meet  outside  the  Boulevard  du  Temple. 
You  would  go  a mile  any  time  barefooted  to  see  it. 

I would  have  you  to  know,  sir,  that  I am  a rentier ^ 
(a  freeholder)  que  je  paye  rente  cl  la  ville  de  Paris. 
that  I am  called  Grigou,  monsieur;  and  that  I live  in 
the  Rue  d^Angouleme,  No.  22;’^  and  he  sat  down. 
The  little  wife  now  tried  to  appease  him,  which  made 
him  the  more  pugnacious;  she  reminded  him  he  was 
a father  of  a family,  had  children,  and  finally  that  he 
had  a wife;  and  then  she  sat  up  close  by  him,  and 
then  she  came  over  to  the  other  side,  just  front  of  me, 
for  security. — The  bourgeois  of  this  district  lives  in 
a larger  house  than  he  could  get  for  the  same  rent  in 
any  other  part  of  Paris;  he  is  usually  independent  in 
his  circumstances,  and  has  a certain  aplomb^  or  confi- 
dence in  himself,  and  a liberty  in  all  his  movements, 
which  give  a full  relief  to  his  natural  feelings,  and 
traits  of  character. 

Some  distance  towards  the  right  you  will  find 
the  great  market  of  frippery — one  of  the  curiosities 
of  this  district.  Every  old  thing  upon  the  earth  is 
sold  there  for  new.  There  are  1800  shops.  Nothing 
ever  Avas  so  restored  from  raggedness  to  apparent 
green  youth  and  integrity  as  an  old  coat  in  tlie  hands 
of  these  Israelites,  unless  it  be  the  conscience  of  those 
who  sell.  A garment  that  has  served  at  least  two 
generations,  and  been  worn  last  by  a beggar,  you  will 


KNIGHTS  TEMPLARS. 


71 


buy  in  this  market  for  new  in  spite  of  your  teeth.  It 
is  a good  study  of  human  nature  to  see  here  how  far 
the  human  face  may  be  modified  by  its  pursuits  and 
meditations. 

This  building  in  the  Rue  du  Temple,  with  superb 
portico,  and  Ionic  columns,  and  two  colossal  statues 
in  front,  is  one  of  great  historical  importance;  and 
ladies  who  love  knights  would  not  pardon  me  for 
passing  it  unnoticed.  The  ancient  edifice  was  built 
seven  hundred  years  ago,  and  was  occupied  by  one 
of  the  most  powerful  orders  of  Christianity — the 
Knights  Templars.  Here  it  was  that  Phillip  le  Bel 
tortured  and  burnt  alive  these  soldier  monks;  seizing 
their  treasures,  and  bestowing  their  other  possessions 
upon  his  new  favorites,  the  Knights  of  Malta.  Who 
has  not  heard  of  the  war-cry  of  Beauceant^  which 
chilled  the  blood  of  the  Saracens  on  the  plains  of 
Syria,  and  has  since  made  many  a woman  tremble 
in  her  slippers  at  midnight.  This  was  his  lodging. 
Lord!  how  wide  you  open  your  eyes!  Yes,  here 
lodged  the  Knights  of  the  Red  Cross;  and  Richard  Cceur 
de  Lion  used  to  put  up  in  this  temple  in  going  to  the 
Holy  Land.  It  became  national  property  in  the  Revolu- 
tion, and  was  given  at  the  Restoration  (1814)  to  the 
Princesse  de  Conde,  who  established  the  present  Con- 
vent of  the  Temple.^^  The  ladies  who  now  occupy 
it  are  called  the  Barnes  Benedictines^  and,  like  the 
other  nuns,  of  whom  there  are  at  present  more  than 
twenty  orders  in  France,  they  devote  themselves  to 
education  and  other  benevolent  employments.  It  was 
in  this  old  building  that  Louis  XVI  and  his  queen 
were  imprisoned  in  1792.  The  king  was  taken  out 
from  here  the  20th  of  January,  1793,  to  the  scaffold, 
the  queen  about  eleven  months  after,  and  Madame 


72 


MONSIEUR  DE  PARIS. 


Elizabeth,  his  sister,  in  the  following  year,  leaving 
his  daughter  here  alone  at  thirteen  years  of  age.  Sir 
Sydney  Smith  was  confined  in  the  same  room  in  1798. 
Bonaparte,  in  1811,  demolished  the  old  edifice  to  the 
last  stone — from  what  motive?  and  in  1812,  it  was 
fenced  round,  and  the  grass  grew  upon  the  guilty 
place.  The  religious  ladies  who  now  reside  here  are 
purifying  it  by  prayers  and  other  acts  of  devotion. 
Apropos  of  Sydney  Smith;  I met  him  at  an  evening 
party  lately.  He  looks  like  the  history  of  the  last 
half  century.  He  is  a venerable  old  man  and  very  so- 
ciable with  the  young  girls,  who  were  climbing  his 
knees,  and  hanging  about  his  neck,  and  getting  his 
name  albummed  in  their  little  books  to  carry  to 
America. 

I will  now  show  you  a house  in  this  street,  (Rue 
des  Marais  du  Temple,  No.  31,)  a house  that  once 
seen  will  never  depart  from  your  memory.  Its  closed 
door  and  windows,  as  if  no  one  lived  there;  its  iron 
railing  without  entrance,  and  the  interstices  condemn- 
ed with  wood,  in  front;  and  the  slit  in  the  centre  of 
the  door  to  receive  the  correspondence  of  its  horrible 
master,  who  sits  within  as  a spider  in  its  web,  you 
will  see  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  It  is  the  house  of 
Monsieur  de  Paris.  Oh  dear!  and  who  is  Mon- 
sieur de  Paris?  He  is  a civil  magistrate,  and  be- 
longs to  the  executive  department.  No  one  living 
is,  perhaps,  so  great  a terror  to  evil  doers  as  this 
Monsieur  de  Paris.  Monsieur,’^  you  must  recollect, 
has  its  particular,  and  its  general  meanings.  Mon- 
sieur, means  any  body;  un  monsieur,  is  a gentleman 
of  some  breeding  and  education;  La  maison  de  Mon- 
sieur, is  the  family  of  the  king’s  eldest  son;  Monsieur 
de  MeauXy  means  the  Archbishop,  and  Monsieur  de 


HIS  TWO  DAUGHTERS. 


73 


Paris,  means,  the  Hangman!  He  is  also  called  the 
‘‘  Executeur  de  la  haute  justice, or  Executeur  des 
halites  oeuvres/’  and  vulgarly,  the  Boureau,  This 
is  his  Hotel.  The  name  of  the  present  incumbent  is 
Mr.  Henry  Sanson.  His  family  sonsists  of  a son,  a 
person  of  mild  and  gentle  manners,  who  is  now  serv- 
ing his  apprenticeship  to  the  business  under  his  emi- 
nent parent;  and  two  daughters.  The  elder  about  fif- 
teen, is  remarkable  for  beauty  and  accomplishment. 
The  father  is  rich;  his  salary  being  above  that  of  the 
President  of  the  Royal  Court,  and  he  has  spared  no 
expense  in  the  education  of  the  girls.  They  will  be 
sumptuously  endowed. 

The  two  ends  of  society  are  affected  sometimes  in 
nearly  the  same  way.  A princess,  being  obliged  to 
select  her  husband  from  her  own  rank  and  religion,  runs 
the  hazard  of  a perpetual  virginity;  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Paris  experiences  exactly  the  same  inconvenience; 
she  can  marry  but  a hangman.  There  is  no  one  of 
all  Europe,  ivho  has  performed  the  same  eminent 
functions,  as  Mr.  Henry  Sanson,  or  to  whom,  with- 
out loss  of  dignity,  he  can  ofler  the  hand  of  his  fair 
daughter.  Ye  lords  and  gentlemen,  if  you  think  you 
have  all  the  pride  to  yourselves,  you  are  mistaken; 
the  hangman  has  his  share  like  another  man. 

Mr.  Sanson  has  appropriated  one  or  two  rooms  of 
this  building  to  a Museum  of  ancient  instruments, 
used  in  judicial  torture — Luke’s  iron  bed,  Ravillac’s 
boots,  and  such  like  relics;  and  is  quite  a dilettanti  in 
this  department  of  science.  We  expect  a course  of 
gratuitous  lectures,  as  at  the  ^^Musee  des  Arts  et  Me- 
tiers,” when  the  season  begins.  Amongst  other  ob- 
jects, you  will  see  the  sword  with  which  was  beheaded 
VoL.  I.— 7 


74 


THE  MARQUIS  DE  LALY. 


the  Marquis  de  Laly.  I am  going  to  tell  you  an 
anecdote  I have  read  of  this  too  famous  execution, 
which  is  curious.  About  the  year  1750,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  three  young  men  of  the  high  class  of 
nobility,  after  breaking  windows,  and  the  heads  of 
street  passengers,  and  beating  the  guard,  (which  was 
the  privilege  of  the  higher  classes  in  those  times,) 
strolling  down  the  Faubourg  St.  Martin,  laughing  ‘ 
and  talking,  and  well  fuddled  with  champagne,  arriv- 
ed at  the  door  of  this  house.  They  heard  the  sound 
of  instruments,  and  music  so  lively  seemed  to  indicate 
a hearty  bourgeois  dance.  How  fortunate ! they  could 
now  pass  the  night  pleasantly.  One  of  them  knocked, 
and  a polite  well  dressed  person  opened.  A young 
lord  explained  the  motive  of  their  visit,  and  was  re- 
fused. ^^You  are  wrong, said  the  nobleman:  ^^we 
are  of  the  court,  and  do  you  honor  in  sharing  your 
amusements.’’  I am  obliged  nevertheless  to  refuse,” 
replied  the  stranger;  neither  of  you  know  the  person 
you  are  addressing,  or  you  would  be  as  anxious  to 
withdraw,  as  now  to  be  admitted.”  ‘‘  Excellent  upon 
honor!  and  who  the  devil  are  you?” — ^‘The  execu- 
tioner of  Paris.”  ^^Ha,  ha,  ha,  what  you?  you  the 
gentleman  who  breaks  limbs,  cuts  off  heads,  and  tor- 
tures poor  devils  so  agreeably?”  “Such  indeed  are 
the  duties  of  my  office;  I leave,  however,  the  details 
you  speak  of  to  my  deputies,  and  it  is  only  when  a 
lord  like  either  of  you  is  subject  to  the  penalties  of 
the  law,  that  I do  execution  on  him  with  my  own 
hands.”  The  individual  who  held  this  dialogue  with 
the  executioner  was  the  Marquis  de  Laly.  Twenty 
years  after  he  died  by  the  hands  of  this  man,  upon 
whose  office  he  was  now  exercising  his  raillery. 


THE  CAFE  TURC. 


75 


One  of  the  ornaments  of  this  Boulevard  is  the  Caf^ 
Turc^  fitted  up  with  a furniture  of  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  It  would  do  honor  to  the  Italien.  What 
a display  of  belles  and  beaux,  about  seven  of  an 
evening,  through  its  spacious  rooms,  and  gardens,  and 
galleries! — one  lends  his  ear  to  the  concert,  another, 
retired  in  a grotto  at  the  side  of  his  bonne  amie^  drinks 
large  draughts  of  love,  and  another  drinks  eau  sucree. 

And  here  is  the  largest  elephant  upon  the  earth, 
Avhich  bears  the  same  relation  to  all  other  elephants  that 
the  Trojan  horse  did  to  all  other  horses.  This  monster 
was  to  be  cast  in  bronze,  and  surmounted  by  a tower, 
forming  a figure  of  about  eighty  feet  in  height.  That 
which  you  see  here  is  only  the  model  in  plaster  of 
Paris.  The  stair- way  leads  up  through  one  of  the  legs, 
six  and  a quarter  feet  in  the  ankle.  There  were  to 
be  twenty -four  bas-reliefs  in  marble,  representing  the 
Arts  and  Sciences;  and  the  bronze  was  to  be  obtained 
from  the  fusion  of  the  cannon,  captured  by  the  im- 
perial army  in  Spain.  Louis  Philippe,  who  is  charg- 
ed with  the  public  works  begun  by  Bonaparte,  will 
be  puzzled  to  finish  this  elephant. 

Paris  contains  one  hundred  and  eighty-nine  great 
fountains,  of  which,  about  twenty  are  of  beautiful 
architecture,  adorned  with  sculpture,  and  statuary, 
and  enlivened  by  jets  d’eaux,  and  form  a principal  or- 
nament of  the  city.  This  elephant  was  intended  to 
add  one  to  the  number.  That  so  imposing  and  pic- 
turesque, which  we  just  now  passed  on  the  Boulevard 
du  Temple,  is  called  the  Chateau,  The  building  with 
the  jet  on  the  top  forms  a cone.  The  water  falls  from 
its  summit  into  vases,  which  overflow  in  cascades  that 
tumble  down  from  story  to  story  into  a large  basin  at 


76 


THE  FOUNTAINS. 


the  base,  where  eight  lions  of  bronze  spoilt  torrents  in 
jets  d’eaux  from  their  mouths.  Its  cost  was  one  hun- 
dred thousand  francs.  It  would  be  too  long  to  par- 
ticularise the  others.  On  one  you  will  see  Leda  caress- 
ing her  swan,^Cupid  lurking  on  the  watch;  on  another 
Tantalus  gaping  in  vain  for  the  liquid,  which  passes 
by  his  lips  into  the  pail  of  the  waterman;  on  another, 
Hygeia  giving  drink  to  a fatigued  soldier;  and  on  an- 
other, Charity  suckling  one  of  her  children,  wrap- 
ping another  from  the  cold  in  the  folds  of  her  frock, 
and  quenching  the  parched  lips  of  a third  with  the 
pure  stream.  I have  just  bought  you  a clock  repre- 
senting the  Fountain  of  the  Innocents, with  all  its 
waters  in  motion.  It  was  the  Duchess  of  Berri’s  and 
is  of  delicate  workmanship.  Please  have  the  proper 
respect  to  its  dignity,  and  indulgence  for  its  frailty, 
I will  send  it  by  the  next  packet. 

The  turning  of  wickets,  the  gingling  of  keys,  and 
grating  of  bolts  were  the  sounds  heard  here  forty -six 
years  ago.  What  recollections  rise  out  of  the  ground 
to  meet  you  at  every  step  as  you  tread  upon  this  un- 
hallowed spot.  One  hears  almost  the  chains  clank, 
and  the  prisoner  groan  in  his  cell ! It  was  here,  where 
the  charcoal  now  floats  so  peacefully  on  the  lake,  and 
where  the  boatman  sings  his  absent  mistress  so  joy- 
ously, that  stood,  in  horrid  majesty — 

“ With  many  a foul  and  midnight  murder  fed’* 

the  high  altar  and  castle  of  Despotism,^’  the  Bastille! 
Where  are  now  the  damp  and  secret  cells,  the  sombre 
corridors,  and  the  grim  countenances  of  the  gaolers, 
and  where  the  mob  of  ^89,  and  the  mad  passions 


THE  BASTILLE. 


77 


that  levelled  its  towers  and  battlements?  Quiet  as 
the  Seine  that  sleeps  upon  its  dungeons!  The  present 
substitutes  for  the  Bastille,  are,  the  Depot  at  the  Pre- 
fecture of  Police;  St.  Pelagie  for  state  crimes,  and  La 
Force  for  civil;  the  Conciergerie  for  those  awaiting 
trial,  and  the  Salpetriere  for  those  awating  the  execu- 
tion of  their  sentence. 

Bonaparte  built  here  an  immense  granary,  containing 
always  corn  enough  for  the  consumption  of  the  capital 
for  two  months.  This,  with  the  Halle  aux  bleds  in 
the  centre  of  the  city,  supplies  the  whole  population. 
Paris  has  six  hundred  bakers,  who  are  obliged  to  keep 
always  in  this  granary,  one  hundred  thousand  sacks 
of  flour,  worth  thirty  shillings  sterling  per  sack;  and 
therefore  it  is  called  the  Grenier  de  Reserve,  Here 
lived  the  witty  and  profligate  Beaumarchais;  his  castle 
is  rased;  all  but  Figaro  are  dead.  You  have  in  sight 
the  Hospital  of  the  Quinze-vingts,  which  contains 
three  hundred  blind,  who  have  twenty-four  sous  a 
day  each  for  a living,  with  the  produce  of  their  indus- 
try, which  is  wonderfulljT'  ingenious.  Now  we  have 
passed  the  Garden  of  Plants,  and  the  Bridge  of  Aus- 
terlitz.  For  this  latter  favor  we  owe  something  to  the 
Russians,  who  saved  this  bridge  from  its  bad  name, 
and  Blucher’s  gunpowder. 

That  upon  the  hill  is  the  Salpetriere,  the  Insane 
Hospital  for  women.  What  a huge  pile!  One  to  put 
the  sane  ones  in  would  not  be  half  the  size.  This 
front  on  the  Boulevard,  is  six  hundred  feet.  The  build- 
ing in  the  rear  is  of  similar  dimensions,  and  the  Ro- 
tonde  between,  with  the  octagon  dome,  is  the  chapel. 
It  contains  now  four  thousand  five  hundred  poor,  aged 
above  seventy;  one  thousand  five  hundred  crazy;  all 

7^ 


78 


THE  HOSPITAL  FOR  WIDOWERS. 


women.  I went  in  on  Sunday,  What  immense  con- 
versation! There  is  a similar  institution  for  the  other 
sex,  called  the  Bicetre,  Paris  has  twenty  hospitals, 
affording  thirty  thousand  beds,  and  classed  by  the  seve- 
ral diseases  and  infirmities.  It  has  no  poor-houses, 
but  each  of  its  twelve  arondissements,  or  municipal 
divisions,  has  a Bureau  de  Bienfaisance,-^  which 
distributes  provisions  to  the  indigent,  and  provides 
labor  for  the  idle,  and  there  is  a plenty  of  benevolent 
societies  with  specific  objects.  Nor  do  they  want 
customers,  for  the  number  of  paupers  is  near  fifty 
thousand.  I forgot  to  tell  you  there  is  a hospital  here 
(the  Hospice  des  Menages,)  for  widowers.  What  an 
object  of  charity  is  a man  without  a wife!  They 
have  made,  however,  the  terms  hard;  one  has  to 
stay  married  twenty  years  to  be  admitted.  The  insti- 
tution is  under  the  care  of  the  sisters  of  Charity.  This 
of  Val  de  Grace  is  for  the  military,  and  that  of  the 
Rue  d’Enfer  for  the  Foundlings;  not  an  unnatural 
association,  but  emblematic  of  the  two  chief  concerns 
of  the  capital ; killing  off  the  people  by  war,  and  making 
up  the  loss  by  adultery.  And  this  is  the  Rue  St.  Jaques, 
one  of  the  classical  streets  of  the  city.  The  great 
rogues  pay  their  last  visit  to  this  end  of  it,  and  the 
great  men  to  the  other:  if  you  kill  ten  thousand  of 
your  fellow  creatures,  you  go  to  the  Pantheon  at  the 
west  end;  if  one  only,  you  come  here  to  the  Place  St. 
Jaques;  now  the  seat  of  the  Guillotine,  and  the  public 
executions. — At  length  we  are  on  the  Boulevard  du 
Mont  Parnasse^dii  the  end  of  our  journey.  Yet  could 
you  not  get  a drop  of  Helicon  here,  though  perishing 
with  thirst.  All  one  can  offer  you  is  a little  sour  Bur- 
gundy, which  is  cheaper  than  inside  the  wall.  This 


SMUGGLERS. 


79 


is  the  reason  you  see  all  this  rabble,  five  hundred  at  a 
view,  carousing  and  dancing  in  their  sabots,  drinking 
and  caressing  tour-a-tour,  the  necks  of  their  bottles, 
and  their  belles;  it  is  the  reason  why  thousands  are 
crowding  here  to  drink,  who  are  not  dry,  and  Paris  is 
losing  daily  her  sober  reputation,  and  learning  to  get 
drunk  like  her  neighbors. 

The  bad  system  of  the  ports  in  France  is  transferred 
to  all  the  petty  towns.  A couple  of  sergeants,  musk- 
etted  and  whiskered,  walk  with  grim  dignity  at  each 
side  of  the  gates.  They  stop  and  examine  all  vehicles, 
public  and  private,  and  all  such  persons  as  carry  in 
provisions  to  the  market;  forcing  them  to  pay  an  octroi 
or  duty  to  the  city  of  Paris;  which  prevent  those  rogues 
the  poor  people  from  getting  a dinner  imtaxed.  They 
even  stop  sometimes  the  foot  passengers;  especially 
those  notorious  smugglers,  the  women.  If  any  one 
chance  to  be  half  gone,  she  is  not  allowed  to  go  any 
farther,  unless  with  the  certificate  of  the  parish  priest, 
or  some  equally  good  authority.  Quantities  of  lace 
and  silks  have  passed  in  under  such  pretexts.  The 
best  commentary  I know  upon  the  wisdom  of  this 
policy,  is  the  Boulevard  du  Mont  Parnasse. 

When  Paris  was  surrounded  by  this  wall,  the  people 
murmured  and  made  a riot,  and  hung  up  several  of 
the  ringleaders,  on  those  principles  of  law  recently  laid 
down  by  our  chief  justice  Lynch.  They  entered  suits 
too  against  the  city — to  put  her  in  the  Bastille;  but  a 
compromise  ended  the  strife,  and  the  wall  was  built. 
Here  is  a line  from  an  old  book  relating  to  these 
times. 


“ Les  murs  murant  Paris  rendent  Paris  murmurant.’ 


80 


THE  PALAIS  ROYAL. 


I could  not  think  of  descending  from  Parnassus,  with- 
out a line  of  poetry. 


LETTER  IV. 


The  Palais  Royal — French  courtesy — Rue  Vivienne — Pleasures  of 
walking  in  the  streets — Cafes  in  the  Palais  Royal — Mille  Colonnes 
— Very’s — French  dinners — Past  History  of  the  Palais  Royal — 
Galerie  d’Orleans — Gambling — The  unhappy  Colton — Hells  of  tho 
Palais  Royal — Prince  Puckler  Muskau — Lord  Brougham — The 
King  and  Queen. 

Paris,  July,  1835. 

You  wish  to  see  the  Palais  Royal)  Then  you 
must  step  from  the  Boulevard  Italien  a quarter  of  a 
mile  to  the  southwest.  If  you  hate  Philadelphia 
sameness  and  symmetry  you  will  be  gratified  here  to 
your  heart’s  content.  In  Paris  there  are  ten  hundred 
and  eighty  streets,  besides  lanes  and  alleys,  all  recom- 
mending themselves  by  the  most  charming  irregulari- 
ties. That  which  you  will  now  pass  through — the 
Rue  Vivienne,”  is  among  the  most  bustling,  it  is  a 
leading  avenue,  is  alive  with  business,  and  has  pre- 
tensions far  above  its  capacity.  I must  tell  you  a 
word  about  the  etiquette  of  these  streets  before  you 
set  out. 

If  a lady  meets  a gentleman  upon  the  little  side  walk, 
which  French  courtesy  calls  a irotioir^^^  it  is  the  lady 
always  who  trots  into  the  mud.  The  French  wo- 
men seem  used  to  this  submission  and  yield  to  it  in- 


FRENCH  COURTESY. 


81 


stinctively;  and  indeed  all  who  feel  their  weakness,  as 
children  and  old  men,  being  subject  to  the  same  neces- 
sity, show  the  same  resignation.  Also,  if  a number  of 
gentlemen  are  coteried,  even  across  the  broad  walk  of 
the  Boulevards,  the  lady  walks  round  not  to  incommode 
them;  and  it  isnot  expected  of  a French  gentleman,  in  a 
public  place  or  vehicle,  that  ne  should  give  his  seat  to 
any  one,  of  whatever  age,  sex  or  condition,  or  that  he 
should  deviate  from  his  straight  line  on  the  street  for 
any  thing  less  than  an  omnibus.  The  French  have 
been  a polite  people,  and  they  continue  to  trade  on  the 
credit  of  their  ancestors.  What  is  curious  to  observe  is 
the  complaisance  with  which  human  nature  follows  a 
general  example.  A Russian  wife,  when  the  husband 
neglects  to  beat  her  for  a month  or  two,  is  alarmed  at 
his  indifference,  and  I have  remarked  that  the  French 
women  are  the  warmest  defenders  of  this  French  in- 
civility. 

Recollect  that  as  soon  as  you  will  put  your  little 
foot  upon  this  Rue  Vivienne^  fifty  wagons,  a wedding 
coach,  and  three  funerals,  with  I don’t  knowhow  many 
mallepostes,  cabs,coucous,  and  bell-eared  diligences — 
all  but  the  fiacres,  with  their  gaunt  and  fieshless 
horses,  which  plead  inability — will  set  themselves  to 
run  over  you,  without  the  smallest  respect  for  your 
Greek  nose,  your  inky  brows,  and  black  eyes.  The 
danger  is  imminent,  and  it  wont  do  to  have  your  two 
feet  in  one  sock.  I have  written  home  to  your  mother 
to  have  prayers  performed  in  the  churches  for  women’s 
husbands  sojourning  in  Paris. — And  by  escaping  from 
one  danger  you  are  sure  to  run  full  butt  against  another; 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,  too,  are  so  close  together  that  the 
^^prudent  middle”is  precisely  the  course  thatno  prudent 


82 


DANGERS  OF  THE  STREETS. 


lady  will  think  of  pursuing.  To  make  it  worse  the 
natives  will  have  not  the  least  sympathy  in  your  dan- 
gers; they  have  been  used  to  get  run  over  themselves, 
from  time  immemorial,  and  when  we  staring  Yankees 
come  over  to  see  the  ‘^Tooleriesand  the  Penny  Royal,’’ 
they  are  not  aware  that  any  allowance  is  to  be  made 
for  our  ignorance.  Besides,  the  driver  knows  a stran- 
ger as  far  as  he  can  see  him,  and  takes  aim  accordingly; 
he  gets  twenty-five  francs  for  his  body  at  the  Morgue. 
It  is  known  that  secret  companies  for  running  over 
people,”  exist  all  over  Paris,  and  that  the  drivers  are 
the  principal  jobbers.  The  truth  is  that  it  is  reckoned 
amongst  the  natural  deaths  of  the  place,  and  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  are  marked  upon  the  bills  of  the  last 
year.  Under  the  old  rS^irne,  when  the  nobility  put 
out  a greater  train  of  vehicles,  and  had  a kind  of  mo- 
nopoly of  running  over  the  common  people,  I have 
heard  it  was  still  worse.  Then  if  any  one  walked 
about  the  streets  unmashed  for  twenty  years,  he  was 
entitled  to  the  cross  of  St.  Louis.  I have  escaped  till 
now,  but  I set  it  down  entirely  to  the  efficacy  of  your 
innocent  prayers,  which  have  reversed  the  fates  in  my 
favor. 

Your  best  way  is  to  watch  and  imitate  the  address 
of  the  native  women.  Here  they  are  now,  in  front  of 
my  window  sprinkled  over  the  whole  street,  in  their 
white  stockings  and  prunellas,  and  in  the  very  filthiest 
of  the  French  weather  without  a spot  to  their  garters. 
The  little  things  just  pull  up  all  the  petticoats  in  the 
world  more  than  half  leg,  and  then  tip-toe,  they  step 
from  the  convex  surface  of  one  paving  stone  to 
another,  with  a dexterity  and  grace  that  go  to  one’s 
heart. 


PLEASURES  OF  WALKING. 


83 


A lady  must  expect  also  other  embarrassments 
here,  to  which  the  delicate  pusillanimity  of  the  sex  is 
but  slightly  exposed  ye/  in  our  country — besides  the 
cat  and  nine  kittens  that  she  must  jump  over,  and  the 
defunct  lap-dogs  that  lie  putrid  in  the  gutters.  The 
truth  is  that  these  streets  are  very  often  (I  say  it  with 
great  respect  for  Madame  de  Rambouillet)  so  in  dis- 
habille  they  are  not  fit  to  be  seen.  A Parisian  lady 
therefore  (and  she  is  to  be  imitated  also  in  this)  when 
she  ventures  out  a-foot,  is  sharp-sighted  as  a lynx,  and 
blind  as  an  owl;  she  has  eyes  to  see  and  not  to  see, 
like  those  bad  Christians  in  the  Testament,  and  she 
runs  the  gauntlet  through  the  midst  of  all  these  slip- 
pery and  perilous  obstructions,  in  as  careless  a good 
humor  as  you  upon  the  smooth  trottoirs  of  your  Ches- 
nut  and  Broadways.  It  is  true  the  ladies  of  the  hunt 
ton  do  not  much  exercise  their  ambulatory  functions 
— their  ‘‘vertu  caminante^^ — upon  these  unsavory 
promenades. 

A French  gentlemen,  who  has  resided  a week  and  a 
half  at  New  York,  (just  long  enough  to  know  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  a country)  told  me  this  very  morn- 
ing that  you  American  ladies  stare  upon  the  streets  at 
the  gentlemen — he  ventured  to  say,  even  to  im- 
modesty;” and  I have  heard  other  foreigners  make 
similar  remarks,  I presume  without  a proper  attention 
to  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  different  countries. — 
On  a Philadelphia  street  a lady  can  give  herself  up  to 
her  thoughts;  her  soul  has  the  free  use  of  its  wings;  she 
can  get  into  a romance,  ora  reverie,  she  can  study  her 
lesson,  or  read  a love-letter,  and  she  can  stare  at  a 
French  gentleman  without  the  least  apprehension  of 
danger.  Our  streets  are  clean  and  decent,  and  are  ex- 


84 


CLEANLINESS  OF  STREETS. 


cellent  places  of  parade;  and  gentlemen  and  ladies  may 
go  out  expressly  of  fine  evenings  to  stare  at  one  another. 
Indeed  Chesnut  street  is  so  trim  and  neat  that  some- 
times one  is  almost  obliged,  like  Diogenes,  to  spit  in 
somebody's  face  not  to  soil  its  prettiness.  Not  so  in 
Paris.  You  are  here  quite  at  your  ease  in  all  such 
matters.  A French  lady  therefore,  and  very  properly, 
sees  no  one  on  the  street — not  even  her  husband.  To 
get  her  to  look  at  you,  you  are  obliged  to  take  hold  of 
her,  shake  her,  and  turn  her  about  three  or  four  times; 
but  when  once  upon  the  Boulevard  Italien  of  an  even- 
ing, or  upon  the  broad  walk  of  the  elegant  Tuilleries, 
when  she  has  no  longer  need  of  her  faculties  of  eyes  and 
ears,  and  nose  too,  to  anticipate  and  obviate  danger — 
ah^  ma  foi!  her  diamond  eyes  are  no  more  chary  of 
their  amorous  glances,  than  the  hazle  and  bugle  eyes  of 
Chesnut  or  Broadway  of  theirs.  I tried  to  persuade  this 
French  gentleman,  who  is  a baron,  has  a bel  ah'  and 
large  mustachios,  that  this  happened  only  to  him;  I 
told  him  (and  it  is  true  too,)  of  others  who  could  not 
get  the  dear  little  girls  of  New  York  to  look  at  them 
sufficiently.  But  I must  show  you  the  Palais  Royal. 

It  is  a third  less  than  your  Washington  Square.  Its 
trees  are  in  two  regular  rows  along  each  margin.  In 
the  centre  is  an  enclosure,  contaning  shrubbery  and 
flowers;  and  also  an  Apollo  and  a Diana,  in  bronze, 
and  a jet  d’eau  that  separates  in  the  air,  and  falls  in  a 
^^fleur  de  lys’^ — the  only  emblem  of  royalty  that  de- 
ceived the  Revolution  and  the  Jacobins;  and  a lake, 
where  the  little  fishes  wave  their  wings  of  gold.^^ 
There  is  no  access  to  vehicles,  or  street  noise  to  disturb 
the  quiet  of  this  fairy  retreat.  It  is  in  the  centre,  too, 
of  the  city,  in  the  vicinity  of  all  the  other  chief  places 


THE  PALAIS  ROYAL. 


85 


of  diversion;  and  here  all  the  world  meets  after  dinner 
to  take  coffee,  to  smoke,  and  concert  measures  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening.  You  will  see  them  creeping  in 
from  the  neighboring  streets  as  you  have  seen  the  ants 
into  a sugarhouse. 

If  you  wish  to  know  where  is  the  centre  of  the 
earth,  it  is  the  Palais  Royal.  Ask  a stranger,  when 
he  arrives,  “whither  will  you  go  first?^’  he  will  an- 
swer, “to  the  Palais  Royal;’’  or  ask  a Frenchman,  on 
the  top  of  Caucasus,  “where  shall  I meet  you  again?” 
he  will  give  you  rendezvous  at  the  Palais  Royal;  and 
no  spot,  they  say,  on  the  earth,  has  witnessed  so  many 
tender  recognitions.  Just  do  you  ask  Mademoiselle 
Celeste,  at  New  York,  “ where  did  you  get  that  su- 
perb robe  de  chambre?”  and,  I will  lay  you  six  to 
one,  she  will  say,  “at  the  Palais  Royal.” 

Let  us  sit  down  beneath  these  pretty  elms.  Those 
upper  rooms,  which  you  see  so  adorned  with  Ionic 
columns,  with  galleries,  and  vases,  and  little  Virtues, 
and  other  ornaments  in  sculpture — those  are  not  his 
majesty’s  apartments;  not  the  salles  des  marechatix 
nor  the  salle  du  trone^  nor  the  chambre  h coucher  de 
la  reine^  they  are  the  cafes  and  restaurants  of  the 
Palais  Royal.  And  those  multitudes  you  see  circulat- 
ing about  the  galleries,  and  looking  down  from  the 
windows— -those  are  not  the  royal  family,  nor  the 
garde  du  corps,  nor  she  “ hundred  Swiss,”  nor  the 
cha7nhellans,  the  ecui/e?'s,  the  aumoniers,  the  maitres 
de  ch'^monies,  the  mti'oducteurs  des  ambassadeurs, 
nor  the  historiographers,  nor  even  the  chauf-cire,  or 
the  capitaines  des  levreltes — they  are  the  cooks,  and 
the  gargons,  in  their  white  aprons,  of  the  cafes  and 
restaurants;  the  only  order  that  has  suffered  no  loss  of 
Yol.  I.— 8 


86 


THE  CAFfiS  AND  RESTAURANTS. 


dignity  or  corruption  of  blood  by  the  Revolution;  the 
veritable  noblesse  of  these  times,  the  cordons  bleus’^ 
of  the  order  of  the  gridiron. 

Louis  Philippe,  our  citizen  king,  and  proprietor  of 
this  garden,  gets  thirty-two  thousand  francs,  annually, 
of  sitting,  out  of  these  chairs.  Sit  you  down.  It 
being  after  dinner,  I will  treat  you  to  a regale-,  which 
is  a cup  of  pure  coffee,  with  a small  glass  of  liqueur, 
eau  de  vie,  or  rum,  or  quirsh.  You  can  take  them 
separate  or  together;  in  the  latter  case,  it  is  called 
gloria or  you  may  put  your  cogniac  into  a cup, 
with  a large  lump  of  sugar  in  the  middle,  and  set  it 
on  fire,  to  destroy  the  effects  of  the  alcohol  upon  your 
nerves.  See  how  the  area  of  the  garden  is  already 
coverd  with  its  smoking,  drinking,  and  promenading 
community;  and  how  the  smoke,  as  if  loth  to  quit  us, 
still  lingers,  until  the  whole  atmosphere  is  narcotic 
with  its  incense.  At  a later  hour,  we  shall  find  in  the 
rotunda,  at  the  north  end,  and  upon  tables  under  these 
trees,  ices  in  pyramids,  and  orgeat  and  eau  sucree, 
and  all  the  other  luxurious  refreshments.  Those  two 
oriental  pavilions,  with  the  gilded  roofs,  in  front  of  the 
rotonde,  will  distribute  newspapers  to  the  studious,  and 
the  whole  garden  will  buzz  with  conversation  and 
merriment,  until  the  long  twilight  has  faded  into  night. 

Of  the  inside  of  the  cafes  and  restaurants  I must 
give  you  a few  particulars.  In  each,  there  is  a woman 
of  choice  beauty,  mounted  on  a kind  of  throne.  She 
is  present  always,  and  may  be  considered  as  one  of  the 
fixtures  of  the  shop.  When  you  enter  any  of  these 
cafes,  you  will  see,  standing  here  and  there  through 
the  rooms,  an  individual  in  a white  apron;  he  has 
mustachios,  he  holds  a coffee-pot  in  his  left  hand,  and 


THE  KITCHEN  CABINET. 


87 


leaning  gracefully  over  the  right,  reads  his  favorite 
journal — this  is  the  waiter!  When  you  have  cried 
three  times  Gargon!’^  the  lady  at  the  bureau  will 
vibrate  a little  bell,  and  bring  you  instantly  this  waiter 
from  his  studies.  If  you  are  a very  decent  looking 
man,  she  will  let  you  cry  only  twice;  and  if  you  have 
an  embroidered  waistcoat,  and  look  like  a lord,  and 
have  whiskers,  she  will  not  let  you  cry  at  all.  The 
chair  occupied  by  this  she  secretary,  at  the  Mille  Co- 
lonnes^  cost  ten  thousand  francs;  and  she  who  sat? 
some  years  ago,  upon  that  of  the  cafe  des  Aveugles,’’ 
the  belle  Limonadiere,’^  charmed  all  who  had  eyes, 
and  amongst  the  rest,  a brother  of  the  greatest  em- 
peror of  the  world. 

There  are  above  a thousand  of  these  cafes  in  Paris, 
and  several  of  the  most  sumptuous,  overlook  the  gar- 
dens of  the  Palais  Royal.  Ceres  has  unlocked  her 
richest  treasures  here,  and  has  poured  them  out  with 
a prodigality  that  is  unknown  elsewhere.  Fish  of 
fresh,  and  of  salt  water;  rare  wines  of  home  and  fo- 
reign production;  and  as  for  the  confectionaries,  sucre- 
ries,  fruiteries,  and  charcuiteries,  the  senses  are  bewil- 
dered by  the  infinite  variety.  And  the  artists  here 
have  a higher  niche  in  the  temple  of  Fame,  than  even 
those  of  the  Boulevard  Italien.  Monsieur  Very  sup- 
plied the  allied  monarchs,  at  three  thousand  francs 
per  day.  The  Purveyor  of  Fish,’’  to  his  Majesty, 
who  is  of  this  school,  is  salaried  a thousand  dollars 
above  our  chief  justice  of  the  Union;  and  Monsieur 
Dodat,  who  is  immortal  for  making  sausages  and  the 

Passage  Vero-Dodat,”  has  at  Pere  la  Chaise  a monu- 
ment towering  like  that  of  Cheops.  This  is  the  true 
“ Kitchen  Cabinet,”  to  which  ours  is  no  more  to  be 


88 


THE  BILL  OF  FARE. 


compared,  than  the  dishwater  to  the  dinner.  Very 
is  in  the  kitchen,  what  the  Emperor  was  in  the  camp; 
he  is  the  Napoleon  of  gastronomy.  All  flesh  is  no- 
thing in  his  sight.  Why,  he  will  transform  you  a 
rabbit  to  a hare,  or  an  eel  to  a lamprey,  as  easily  as 
you  a Jackson-man  to  a Whig;  and  he  turns  cocks 
into  capons,  and  vice  versa,  by  the  simple  artifice  of 
a sauce.  You  indeed  condense  the  sense  of  a whole 
community  into  a single  head  of  a senator,  or  a Presi- 
dent; and  he  just  as  easily  a whole  flock  of  geese  into 
a single  goose.  You,  it  is  true,  possess  the  wonderful 
art,  all  know  in  what  excellence,  of  puffing  a man  up 
beyond  the  natural  measure  of  his  merits,  and  just  so 
Monsieur  Very  will  puff  you  a goose’s  liver,  however 
unmathematical  it  may  seem,  beyond  the  size  of  the 
whole  goose. 

Now  in  the  midst  of  all  this  skill  and  profusion, 
the  devil’s  in  it  if  you  cannot  dine;”  yet  have  I per- 
ished myself  several  times  of  hunger  in  the  very  midst 
of  this  Palais  Royal.  It  is  not  enough  that  a table  be 
loaded  with  its  dishes,  there  must  be  science,  to  call 
them  by  their  names,  and  taste  to  discriminate  their 
uses.  What  can  you  do  with  an  Iroquois  from  the 
Sharp  Mountain,”  who  does  not  know  that  sauce  for 
a gander  is  not  sauce  for  a goose.  Unless  you  have 
studied  the  nomenclature,  which  is  about  equal  to  a 
first  course  of  anatomy,  you  are  no  more  fit  to  enjoy 
a dinner  at  Very’s  than  Tantalus  in  his  lake.  For 
example,  the  gargon  will  present  you  a bill  of  fare,  as 
big  as  your  prayer  book;  you  open  it;  the  first  page 
presents  you  thirty  soups,  (classically  potages,)  and 
there  you  are  to  choose  between  a a ‘‘con- 

somm6,^^  ‘‘h  la  Julien,  a la  Beauvais,  ci  la  Bonne 


CHEAP  DINNERS. 


89 


Femme^^'^  &c.  &c.  I prefer  the  consomme/’  and  I 
will  tell  you  how  it  is  made.  It  is  a piece  of  choice 
beef  and  capon  boiled  many  hours  over  a slow  fire  to 
a jelly,  and  the  juices  concentrated  and  served  with- 
out any  extraneous  mixture.  The  Julien,”  is  a pot 
pourri^  of  all  that  is  edible  or  potable  in  the  list  of 
human  aliments.  It  is  a soup,  for  which,  if  rightly 
made,  an  epicure  would  give  away  his  birth  right:  it 
was  invented,  not  by  Julian  the  Apostate,  but  by 
Monsieur  Julien  of  the  Palais  Royal.  The  fluids 
being  settled,  you  will  turn  then  to  the  following  page 
for  the  solids:  Papilloltes  de  Levreaud^^  “filet  h 
la  Neapolitaine^^  “ vol-au-venV^  “ scolope  de  sate- 
mon^^  “ oevf  au  miroir^^  “ riz  saute  a la  glace, 
“pique  aux  truffles^''  &c.  &c.  Alas,  my  poor  roasting, 
and  frying  countrymen!  There  is  not  a day  but  I see 
some  poor  Yankee  scratching  his  head  in  despair  over 
this  crabbed  vocabulary  of  French  dishes.  Your  best 
way  in  this  emergency  is  to  call  the  gargon;  and  leave 
all  to  him,  and  sit  still  like  a good  child,  and  take 
what  is  given  to  you.  I have  known  many  a one 
to  run  all  over  Paris  for  a beef-stake,  and  when  he 
has  got  it,  it  was  a horse’s  rump.  My  advice  is  that 
no  one  come  to  Paris  to  dine  in  mean  houses  on  cheap 
dinners;  to  eat  cats  for  hares,  and  have  snails  and 
chalk  for  his  cream.  You  are  no  more  sure  of  the 
ingredients  of  a dish  under  the  disguises  of  a French 
cookery,  than  of  men’s  sentiments  from  their  faces 
or  professions.  You  can  get,  to  begin  with,  olives, 
and  eggs  boiled,  and  poached;  all  that  remains  of  old 
simplicity;  if  you  know  how  to  ask  for  them;  if  not, 
carry  the  shells  about  with  you  in  your  pocket. 

We  will  dine  to-morrow  at  the  Mille  ColonnesP 
8^ 


90 


THE  MILLE  COLONNES. 


Ladies  often  step  into  this  cafe  to  be  reflected ; you  can 
see  here,  all  your  faces,  and  behind  and  before  you,  as 
conveniently  as  Janus.  One  always  enters  this  thres- 
hold with  reverence.  It  has  dined  the  Holy  Alliance. 
Besides  the  usual  oflicers  and  attendants,  you  will 
sometimes  see  here  a little  man,  grave,  distrait  and 
meditative;  do  not  disturb  him;  he  is  perhaps,  busy 
about  the  projet  of  some  new  sauce.  He  will  often  start 
abruptly,  and  leave  you  in  a phrase;  it  is  not  incivility; 
he  has  just  conceived  a dish,  and  is  going  out  to  execute 
it,  or  write  it  upon  his  tablets.  You  must  not  expect 
to  see  him  before  one;  for  no  one  is  allowed  to  intrude 
upon  the  freshness  of  his  morning  studies.  Where  is 
your  master?’’  said  a person  lately,  inquiring  of  the 
waiter,  who  replied,  with  the  air  of  one  feeling  the 
importance  of  his  functions;  Monsieur^  il  n^est  pas 
visible;  il  cornpose,^^  The  French  are  not  copyists  in 
cookery,  no  more  than  in  fashions.  They  are  inven- 
tors, and  this  keeps  the  imagination  on  the  rack.  You 
will  remark  that  people  always  excel  in  those  things 
in  which  they  invent,  and  are  always  mediocre  in  those 
things  in  which  they  imitate.  After  your  potage, 
which  you  must  eat  sparingly,  and  without  bread, 
(for  bread  will  satiate,  and  spoil  the  rest  of  your  din- 
ner,) you  will  take  a little  vin  ordinaire,”  or  pure  bur- 
gundy, waiting  for  your  first  course;  and  you  will  just 
cast  a look  over  the  official  part  of  the  Moniteur,  for 
there  is  no  knowing  when  one  may  be  made  a Peer  of 
France;  and  on  receiving  one  dish,  always  command 
the  next.  After  the  dessert  you  will  read  the  news 
all  around;  the  Messager^  Gazette^  Constitutionely 
Debat Sy  QuotidiennCy  Nationaly  and  the  Charivari; 
and  after  coffee  you  may  amuse  yourself  at  checkers; 


RULES  FOR  DINING. 


91 


improve  your  intellects  at  domino,  or  your  morals  by 
a game  of  chess.  In  looking  about  the  room,  you  will 
see  a great  number  of  guests,  perhaps  a hundred,  not 
in  stalls,  as  in  our  eating  houses,  and  the  stables,  but 
seated  at  white  marble  tables,  in  an  open  and  elegant 
saloon,  the  wall  tapestried  with  mirrors.  If  it  be  a se- 
rious gentleman,  reading  deliberately  the  newspaper 
over  his  dessert,  careless  or  contemptuous  of  what  is 
going  on  around  him,  and  drinking  his  bottle  of  cham- 
paigne  alone,  that  is  an  Englishman.  If  ^Partie  carrk,^ 
that  is,  a couple  of  ladies  and  their  cavaliers,  dining 
with  much  noise  and  claret,  observing  a succession 
and  analogy  of  dishes,  swallowing  their  wine  drop  by 
drop,  as  I read  your  letters,  fearing  lest  it  should  come 
too  soon  to  an  end;  and  prolonging  expressly  the  en- 
joyments of  the  repast;  these  are  French  people;  or  if 
you  see  a couple  of  lads,  hurried  and  impatient,  and 

rating  the  waiters  in  no  gentle  terms;  D n your 

eyes,  why  don’t  you  bring  in  the  dinner?  and  take 
away  that  broth:  and  your  black  bottle;  who  the  devil 
wants  your  vinegar,  and  your  dishwater,  and  your 
bibs  too?  And  bring  us,  if  you  can,  a whole  chicken’s 
leg  at  once,  and  not  at  seven  different  times,” — these 
are  from  the  Far  West,”  and  a week  old  in  Paris. 
How  should  these  little  snacks  of  a French  table,  not 
seem  egregiously  mean  to  an  American,  who  is  used 
to  dine  in  fifteen  minutes,  even  on  a holyday,  and  to  see 
a whole  hog  barbecued?  The  French  dine  to  gratify, 
we  to  appease  appetite:  we  demolish  a dinner;  they 
eat  it.  The  guests  who  frequent  these  cafes  are  regu- 
lar or  flying  visiters;  some  are  accidental,  others  occa- 
sional, dining  by  agreement  to  enjoy  each  other’s  com- 
pany; others  again  are  families  who  dine  out  for  a 


92 


STORES  OF  JEWELLERY. 


change,  or  to  give  a respite  to  their  servants;  and 
others  live  here,  a kind  of  stereotype  customers,  alto- 
gether; and  these  houses  serve,  in  addition  to  their 
province  of  eating  and  drinking,  as  places  of  confe- 
rence or  clubs;  it  is  here  that  men  communicate  on  po- 
litical subjects;  that  news  is  circulated;  and  public 
opinion  formed;  and  that  kings  are  expelled,  and  others 
are  set  up  on  their  thrones. 

On  a range  with  the  restaurants,  and  over  them,  you 
will  see  lodged  many  of  the  fine  arts;  painters,  engra- 
vers, dentists,  barbers;  and  beautiful  sultanas  look  out 
from  the  highest  windows  upon  these  fair  dominions, 
to  which  the  severity  of  French  morals  has  forbidden 
them  access.  In  the  lower  rooms,  on  a level  with  the 
area  of  the  garden,  and  peeping  through  the  colonnade, 
west  and  east,  are  riches  almost  immeasurable,  in  ex- 
quisite and  fashionable  apparel  for  both  sexes,  and  in 
jewellery,  trinkets  and  perfumery.  This  trade,  which  in 
other  cities  is  peddling  and  huckstering,  assumes  here 
the  dignity  of  a great  commercial  interest,  and  its  pro- 
ductions are  reckoned  at  upwards  of  a hundred  mil- 
lions of  francs.  The  stores  themselves  are  so  little, 
and  yet  so  pretty,  that  I have  thoughts  of  sending  you 
one  of  them  over  by  the  packet.  Their  arrangements 
are  changed  every  hour,  so  as  to  keep  up  a continuous 
emotion,  and  a series  of  agreeable  excitements,  and  so 
as  to  present  you  a new  set  of  temptations  twelve 
times  a day.  Every  thing  that  human  industry^ 
sharpened  by  necessity,  or  competition  can  effect; 
every  thing  which  can  execite  an  appetite,  can  height- 
en a beauty,  or  hide  a deformity,  is  here — I begin  to 
love  art  almost  as  well  as  nature;  I begin  to  love  mo- 
ther Eve  in  her  fig  leaves,  as  well  as  in  her  unaproned 


WORKS  OF  ART. 


93 


innocence.  After  all  what  is  nature  to  us  without  art? 
Education  is  art.  Indeed  rightly  considered,  art  itself 
is  nature;  she  has  but  left  a part  of  her  work  unfinish- 
ed to  urge  the  industry  and  whet  the  ingenuity  of  man. 
In  these  stores,  every  thing  is  sacrificed  to  the  shop; 
there  is  no  accommodation  for  the  household  gods. 
Persons  with  their  families — indeed,  I have  heard  that 
even  persons  in  the  family  way,  are  not  allowed  to  in- 
habit here.  A man  hoards  space,  as  a miser  hoards 
money.  It  is  a qualification  indispensable  in  a clerk, 
to  be  of  a slender  capacity.  You  would  think  you 
were  in  Lilliput,  served  by  the  fairies.  The  shop- 
girls, especially,  are  of  such  exquisite  exility  of  figure, 
you  can  almost  take  one  of  them  between  your  thumb 
and  finger,  and  set  her  on  the  counter. 

In  our  country,  we  have  nothing  yet  to  shoAV  in 
the  way  of  great  works  of  art.  We  have  nature, 
indeed,  wild  and  beautiful,  but  without  historic  associ- 
ations; tradition  is  dumb,  and  the  memory  of  man’’ 
runs  back  to  the  Eden  of  our  race.  It  is  a mighty 
advantage  these  old  countries  have  over  us;  their 
reminiscences,  their  traditions,  and  their  antiquities. 
What  would  be  the  Tower,  but  for  hump-back  Richard 
and  the  babes;  or,  what  Hounslow  Heath,  but  for  the 
ghosts  of  those,  who  have  been  murdered  there?  and 
in  these  countries,  which  have  no  beginning,  they  can 
supply  the  vacant  space  into  which  authentic  history 
does  not  venture,  by  legends  and  rojuances;  and  no 
matter  how  obscure  may  be  one  of  their  mountains 
and  lakes,  they  can  lie  it  into  a reputation.  Some 
things  are  beautiful  from  their  accessaries  alone;  as 
lords  are  sometimes  lords  only  from  their  equipages. — 


94 


THE  CARDINAL  DE  RICHELIEU. 


What  is  there  beautiful  in  a ruin?  We  have  plains 
as  desolate  as  Babylon,  and  no  one  looks  at  them. 

The  Palais  Royal,  however  magnificent  as  a bazaar, 
has  still  higher  and  better  merits.  It  is  the  history  of 
some  of  the  most  remarkable  personages  and  events  of 
the  last  two  ages.  Some  day  when  we  have  a ticket 
from  the  Intendant  de  sa  Majeste,’^  I will  show  you 
them  all;  and  first,  that  very  celebrated  old  fop  the  car- 
dinal de  Richelieu,  who  used  to  strut,  with  his  train  of 
a monarch,  through  this  very  garden,  and  these  very 
halls.  You  shall  see  the  very  theatre  upon  which  he 
represented  his  woful  tragedies;  his  flatterers  crowd- 
ing around  with  wonderful  grimace,  and  Corneille’s 
Muse  cowering  her  timid  wings  in  silence.  As  you 
are  a lady,  and  love  trinkets,  I will  show  you,  if  it 
yet  exists,  that  great  miracle  of  massive  gold  and  dia- 
monds, the  Cardinal’s  Chapel;  the  two  candlesticks 
valued  at  a hundred  thousand  livers;  the  cross,  twenty- 
two  inches  high,  and  of  pure  gold;  the  Christ  of  the 
same  metal,  and  the  crown  and  drapery  all  glittering  in 
diamonds.  And  you  shall  see  the  prayer  book,  too, 
encased  in  laminae  of  gold;  in  the  centre,  the  cardinal 
holding  up  the  globe;  and  from  the  four  corners,  four 
angels  placing  a crown  upon  his  head.  If  you  like, 
I will  show  you,  also,  that  other  smoolh-faced  rogue, 
scarcely  his  inferior  in  political  ability,  the  Cardinal 
Mazarin,  who  put  the  king’s  money  in  his  pocket,  and 
stinted  his  little  majesty  in  shirts.  And  if  you  love 
more  Cardinals,  I will  show  you  yet  another,  more 
witty,  and  not  less  profligate  and  debauched  than  the 
other  two,  the  Cardinal  de  Retz.  When  we  read  his 
memoirs  together,  little  did  we  foresee  that,  one  day, 
we  should  look  into  the  very  chambers  in  which  he 


THE  cardinal’s  CHAPEL. 


95 


held  his  nightly  councils,  with  his  fellow  conspirators, 
plotting  his  rabble  Revolution  of  the  Fronde.  You 
shall  see  also  Turenne  and  the  great  Conde.  That  gen- 
tleman gathering  maxims — maxims  of  life,  at  the 
court  of  Mazarin! — that  is  M.  le  due  de  Rochefau- 
cauld : and  I will  introduce  you  to  Madame  de  Motte- 
ville,  and  other  famous  wits  and  beauties  of  those 
times.  In  the  room  just  opposite,  where  one  dines 
upon  soup,  three  courses  and  a dessert,  at  forty  sous, 
I will  show  you  the  little  Grand  Monarque”  in  his 
cradle.  The  dear  little  thing  ! It  was  here  the  great 
man  first  began;  it  was  here  he  crept,  I presume  very 
unwillingly,  to  school;  here  he  began  to  seek  the  bubble 
reputation,  and  to  sigh  at  the  feet  (worthy  a better 
devotion)  of  the  ^^hurnble  violet,”  Madame  la  Valliere. 
Just  over  head,  used  to  sup,  with  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
and  his  family,  Doctor  Franklin;  and  here  Madame 
de  Genlis  gave  lessons  to  the  little  Louis  Philippe, 
causing  his  most  Christian  Majesty  to  walk  fifteen 
miles  a day,  in  shoes  with  leaden  soles.  The  Spartans 
did  better,  who,  to  make  their  kings  hardy  and  robust, 
had  them  flogged  daily  at  the  shrine  of  some  pagan 
goddess.  In  one  of  these  rooms,  the  mob  Republic 
held,  for  awhile,  its  meetings;  and  in  this  very  garden, 
the  tri-colored  cockade  was  adopted,  at  a great  meeting 
in  ’89,  as  the  Revolutionary  emblem.  On  the  south 
end,  is  a gallery  of  paintings,  they  say,  very  splendid. 
It  was  plundered  in  the  Revolution,  and  since  restored 
by  the  present  proprietor,  the  king.  If  any  one  steals 
a picture  or  a book  in  Paris,  and  can  prove  quiet  pos- 
session for  a certain  time,  it  is  a vested  right,  and  the 
owner  is  obliged  to  buy  back  his  goods  from  the  thief. 

I sometimes  walk  in  this  garden  with  the  scholars 


96 


T HE  GARDENS. 


and  the  bonnes,  of  a morning,  but  it  is  disagreeable;  it 
is  not  yet  aired,  and  has  a stale  stupefactive  smell  from 
the  preceding  night’s  banquet.  It  is  by  degrees  venti- 
lated and  life  begins  to  flow  into  it  about  tei;^  Then 
the  readers  of  news  begin  to  gravitate  around  Mon- 
sieur Perussault’s  pavilion.  There  is  a dial  here  which 
announces,  with  a loud  detonation,  twelve;  and  as  the 
important  hour  approaches,  every  one  having  a watch 
takes  it  out,  and  looks  up  with  compressed  lips,  and 
waits  in  uno  obtutu  until  Apollo  has  fired  off  his  can- 
non; then  quick  he  twirls  about. the  hands, and  re- 
places it  complacently  in  his  fob,  and  walks  away  very 
happy  to  have  the  official  hour  in  his  pocket.  You 
will  see  also  a few  badeaux,  who  always  arrive  just 
afterwards,  and  stand  the  same  way  looking  up  for 
half  an  hour  or  so,  till  informed  that  the  time  has  al- 
ready gone  off. 

It  is  of  a hot  summer  evening  that  this  garden  is 
unrivalled  in  beauty.  You  swim  in  a glare  of  light, 
the  gas  flashes  from  under  the  arcades;  lamps  innu- 
merable shine  through  the  interior  and  look  down 
from  five  hundred  windows  above.  It  is  not  night,  it 
is  but  the  daylight  sick.”  It  is  haunted  by  its  com- 
pany, and  is  full  of  life  to  the  latest  hours,  and  revelry 
holds  her  gambols  here,  when  Paris  every  where  over 
the  immense  city  is  lulled  into  its  midnight  slumbers. 
When  summer  has  turned  round  upon  its  axis  and  the 
first  chills  of  autumn  frighten  joy  from  her  court,  she 
retires  then  to  her  last  hold,  the  Galerie  Orleans,^^ 
This  delightful  promenade  extends  across  the  south 
end  of  the  garden;  it  is  three  hundred  feet  long  by 
thirty  wide;  its  roof  is  of  glass  and  its  pavement  of  tes- 
selated  marble;  it  is  bounded  on  both  sides  by  stores 


GAMBLING  HOUSES. 


97 


and  cafes,  and  reading  rooms,  eighteen  feet  square; 
renting  annually  at  four-thousand  francs  each.  It  is 
kept  warm  enough  for  its  company  in  winter  and  is  a 
fashionable  resort  during  that  season.  It  is  a pleasant 
walk  also  in  the  twilight  of  a summer  evening.  I 
know  an  ex-professor,  by  dining  with  him  at  the  same 
ordinary,  and  we  walk  often  under  the  crystal  vaults 
of  this  gallery,  and  reason  whole  evenings  away — now 
we  stop,  and  then  walk  on,  and  then  take  snuff,  and 
then  make  a whole  round  arm  in  arm,  in  great  gra- 
vity and  silence;  at  other  times  being  seated  at  a mar- 
ble table,  we  calmly  unfold  the  intricate  mazes  of  the 
human  mind  and  systems  of  human  policy;  and  then 
we  take  coffee,  with  a little  glass  of  quirsh.  Last 
night  we  reasoned  warmly  upon  the  nature  of  slavery 
till  I got  mad,  and  while  I sipped  and  read  the  news- 
paper, he  amused  himself  with  a drawing,  (for  he  is 
skilled  in  this  art)  which  he  presented  me.  It  was  a 
Liberty,  of  a healthy  and  robust  complexion,  her  foot 
upon  a negro  slave.  The  negro  sympathies  have 
waxed  very  warm  in  this  country. 

Four  of  the  houses  just  over  us  are  consecrated  to 
gambling.  They  are  frequented  however  by  rather 
the  lower  class  and  rabble  of  the  profession.  They 
Avho  have  some  regard  to  reputation  go  to  Frascati’s, 
to  the  Rue  Richelieu;  the  more  select  to  the  Cercle,” 
or  to  the  Club  Anglais”  upon  the  Boulevard  and  the 
Rue  de  Grammont;  and  the  Jockey  Club”  receives 
the  dandies  and  flash  gentlemen  of  the  turf.  The 
three  last  are  of  English  origin  and  the  Club  An- 
glais,” is  in  the  best  English  style.  It  receives  only 
the  high  functionaries  of  the  state,  princes  of  the  blood, 
VoL.  I.— 9 


98 


PUBLIC  GAMING  HOUSES. 


ambassadors  and  other  eminent  persons,  and  even  these 
are  not  admitted  to  pick  one  another’s  pockets  here 
unless  known  to  be  of  good  moral  character.  Games 
of  hazard  are  prohibited,  and  the  bets  correspondent 
to  the  dignity  of  the  company.  The  Cercle,”  also  is 
frequented  by  the  upper  sort  of  folk;  it  is  trls  distin- 
gue; and  the  eating  and  service  are  of  no  common 
rate.  The  public  gambling  houses  here  are  authorised 
by  government,  and  pay  for  their  charter  annually  six 
and  a half  millions  of  francs.  The  government  has 
not  thought  it  fit  that  the  black-legs  and  courtezans 
should  worship  in  the  same  temple.  The  ladies 
have  therefore  been  turned  out,  poor  things!  to  get  a 
living  as  they  can  on  the  Boulevards  and  elsewhere, 
and  the  gamblers  have  the  Palais  Royal  all  to  them- 
selves. But  why  do  not  ^Uhe  Chambers,”  extend  this 
system  of  financial  economy  to  other  moral  offences, 
as  stealing,  drunkenness,  and  adultery?  I would  charter 
them  every  one,  and  enrich  the  state.  If  we  can  suc- 
ceed in  making  a vice  respectable,  it  is  no  vice  at  all; 
and  why  should  not  a proper  protection  of  government 
and  general  custom  render  gambling  or  any  vice  as 
respectable  as  thieving  or  infanticide  was  at  Sparta, 
or  as  duelling  and  privateering  are  amongst  the  mo- 
dern civilised  nations?  The  matter  is  now  under  dis- 
cussion, but  there  are  members  of  both  houses,  who 
oppose  these  doctrines;  they  say  that  the  government, 
by  such  licence  becomes  accessory  to  the  crimes  of  its 
subjects,  and  that  bad  passions,  already  rank  enough 
in  human  nature,  should  not  be  made  a direct  object 
of  education;  moreover  they  find  it  awkward  that  legis- 
lators after  having  given  the  whole  community  a pub- 


THE  REV.  C.  COLTON. 


99 


lie  licence  to  pick  one  another’s  pockets  should  stand 
up  in  the  national  tribune  and  talk  about  honesty. — 
There  are  persons  who  have  absurd  prejudices. 

But  to  be  serious;  indeed,  I am  very  well  disposed 
to  such  a feeling;  I have  just  fallen  accidentally  upon 
the  story,  which  every  one  knows,  of  the  unhappy 
Colton.  He  wrote  books  in  recommendation  of  virtue, 
and  critiques  in  reprobation  of  vice,  with  admirable 
talent.  He  was  a clergyman  by  profession,  and  yet 
became  a victim  to  this  detestable  passion.  He  sub- 
sisted by  play  several  years  amongst  these  dens  of 
the  Palais  Royal,  and  at  length  falling  into  irretriev- 
able misery,  ended  his  life  here  by  suicide.  One  feels 
a sadness  of  heart,  in  looking  upon  the  scene  of  so 
horrible  an  occurrence;  one  owes  a tear  to  the  errors 
of  genius;  to  the  weakness  of  our  common  humanity. 

Gambling  seems  to  be  the  universal  passion;  the 
two  extremes  of  human  society  are  equally  subject 
to  it.  The  savage  of  Columbia  River  gambles  his 
rifle,  and  his  squaw,  and  like  any  gentleman  of  the 
Cercle,”  commits  suicide  in  his  despair.  Billiards, 
cards,  Pharo  and  other  games  of  hazard,  are  to  be 
found  at  every  hundred  steps,  in  every  street,  and 
alley  of  Paris;  haunted  by  black-legs  in  waiting  for 
your  purse;  and  there  is  scarce  a private  ball  or  soiree, 
even  to  those  of  the  court,  in  which  immense  sums 
are  not  lost  and  won,  by  gambling.  The  shuffling  of 
cards  or  rattling  of  dice  is  a part  of  the  music  of  every 
Parisian  saloon,  and  many  fathers  of  families  of  the 
first  rank  get  a living  by  it.  To  know  how  much 
better  it  is  in  London,  one  has  only  to  read  the  London 
books.  And  how  much  better  is  it  in  America?  To 
know  this,  you  have  only  to  visit  our  Virginia  Springs 


100 


HELLS  OP  THE  PALAIS  ROYAL. 


and  other  places  of  fashionable  resort.  You  will  hear 
there  the  instruments  of  gambling  at  every  hour  of 
the  night:  and  you  will  see  tables,  covered  with  the 
infamous  gold,  set  out  in  the  shade  during  the  day; 
and  you  will  see  seated  around  these  tables  those 
who  make  the  laws  for  ^^the  only  Republic  upon  the 
earth,’’  the  members  of  the  American  Congress — 
with  the  same  solemn  gravity  as  if  holding  counsel 
upon  the  destinies  of  the  nation.  I have  seen  the 
highest  officer  of  the  House  of  Representatives  step 
from  the  loo-table  to  the  Speaker’s  chair!  The  vices 
of  the  higher  orders  have  this  to  aggravate  their  enor- 
mity, that  the  lower  world  is  formed  and  encouraged 
by  their  example.  Gambling  in  Virginia  is  a peniten- 
tiary offence. 

I have  visited  these  Hells”  of  the  Palais  Royal. 
Their  numbers  are  113,  129,  and  154  on  the  eastern 
gallery,  and  number  36,  on  the  western;  and  from  the 
looks  of  the  company,  I presume  one  could  get  here 
very  soon  all  the  acquirements  by  which  a man  may 
be  put  in  the  way  of  being  hanged.  Bars  are  placed 
before  the  windows  by  the  humanity  of  the  govern- 
ment, to  prevent  his  Majesty’s  subjects  and  others 
from  throwing  away  their  precious  lives  in  their  fits 
of  despair. 

That  tall  and  robust,  and  stern  looking  man  be- 
tween fifty  and  sixty,  in  an  old  tattered  great  coat, 
and  walking  in  the  gait  of  a conspirator,  is  Chodruc 
Duclos.  He  was  once  the  friend  of  Count  Peyronnet 
as  they  say:  he  lavished  his  fortune  on  him,  and  fought 
his  duels.  The  Count  became  minister  and  Duclos 
poor;  he  claimed  his  protection,  and  was  rejected  by  the 
ungrateful  minister.  He  now  walks  here  daily  at  the 


PEEP  INTO  A FASHIONABLE  SALOON. 


101 


same  hour,  like  some  mysterious,  unearthly  being.  He 
never  speaks;  and  the  last  smile  has  died  upon  his 
lips. 

I have  a mind  to  tell  you  a queer  anecdote  of 
myself*,  which  will  fill  the  rest  of  this  page  without 
much  changing  the  subject.  In  a walk  through  the 
Rue  Richelieu  a few  evenings  ago  with  a wag  of  an 
Englishman,  a fellow-lodger,  he  proposed  to  gratify 
me  with  a peep  into  one  of  the  evening  rendezvous, 
as  he  said,  of  the  nobility.  I entered  with  becoming 
reverence  through  a hall,  where  servants  in  livery  at- 
tended taking  our  hats  and  canes,  with  a princely  cere- 
mony, and  bringing  us  refreshments.  Tables  in  the 
several  rooms  where  covered  with  gold,  at  which 
gentlemen  and  ladies  were  playing,  and  others  were 
looking  on  intently  and  silently.  Around  about^ 
some  were  coteried  in  corners,  others  were  strolling 
in  groups  or  pairs  through  the  rooms;  and  others 
again  were  rambling  carelessly  through  the  walks  of 
an  adjacent  garden  of  flowers  and  shrubbery,  illumi- 
nated, or  were  seated  in  secret  conversation  amongst 
its  arbors. 

^^That  gentleman,’^  said  my  companion,  ^^on  the 
right,  with  the  Adonis  neck,  with  rnyrrhed  and  glossy 
ringlets,  is  the  Prince  Puckler  Muskau.^^  And  when 
I had  looked  at  him  sufficiently,  “That  gentleman 
on  the  left  in  conversation  with  Don — Don — Don — 
I forget  his  name — that  is  Prince  Carrimanico,  of 
Rome;  and  that  just  in  front  is  the  Baron  Blowmi- 
nossoff,  from  Petersburg.’^  I stared  particularly  at 
my  Lord  Brougham,  who  had  just  come  over  to  make 
a tour  upon  the  continent  for  his  health.  He  was 
attenuated  by  sickness  and  the  cares  of  business,  but 

9^ 


102 


LADrEs  AT  Frascati’s. 


I could  discern  distinctly  the  great  traits  of  his  cha- 
racter— the  lowering  indignation  on  his  brow,  the 
bitter  curl  and  sarcasm  on  his  lip,  and  the  impetuous 
and  overwhelming  energy  which  distinguish  this  great 
statesman,  upon  his  strongly  marked  features;  and  if 
I had  not  been  informed  of  his  name,  I should  have 
marked  him  out  at  once  as  some  eminent  personage; 
and  from  a certain  abrupt  and  fidgety  manner,  a 
hasty  scratch  at  the  back  of  his  head,  accompanied 
with  two  or  three  twitches  of  the  nose,”  1 should  have 
suspected  him  for  nobody  else  than  the  greatest  states- 
man and  orator  of  Europe,  my  Lord  Brougham. 
Among  the  ladies  also,  several  were  highly  distinguish- 
ed. There  were  Madame  la  Contesse  de  Trotteville, 
and  her  beautiful  cousin  Mademoiselle  Trottini,  from 
Naples,  with  several  of  the  French  nobility;  and  there 
was  the  Countess  of  Crumple,  and  a fat  lady  Madam 
Von  Swellemburgh,  and  others  of  the  Dutch  and  Eng- 
lish gentry.  I fancied  that  a Duchess  on  rny  left  (I 
forget  her  name)  had  a haughty  and  supercilious  air, 
as  if  she  felt  the  dignity  of  her  blood,  and  the  length 
of  her  genealogy.  She  seemed  as  if  not  pleased  that 
every  body  should  be  introduced,  and  wished  some 
place  more  exclusive.  But  there  was  one  young  and 
beautiful  creature — but  so  beautiful  that  I could  not 
with  all  my  efforts  keep  my  eyes  off'  her — who  I ob- 
served more  than  once  reciprocated  my  inquisitive 
looks.  I felt  ffattered  at  being  the  object  of  her  atten- 
tion. The  elegant  creature,  thought  I;  what  a simpli- 
city and  sweetness  of  expression!  and  how  strange, 
that,  brought  up  amidst  the  art  and  refinement  of  a 
Court,  she  should  retain  all  the  innocence  of  the  dove 
upon  her  countenance.  In  the  midst  of  this  admira- 


THE  KING  AND  QUEEN. 


103 


tion,  and  when  I had  just  got  myself  almost  bowed 
to  by  another  countess,  my  companion  let  in  the  light 
upon  the  magic  lantern.  These, said  he,  are 
women  of  the  town,  and  these  are  gamblers  and  pick- 
pockets, who  come  hither  to  Monsieur  Frascati^s  to 
rob  and  ruin  one  another.’’  I give  you  this  for  your 
private  ear;  if  you  tell  it,  mercy  on  me,  I shall  never 
hgar  the  last  of  it.  I shall  be  sung  all  over  the  village. 
There  are  persons  there,  of  half  my  years,  who  would 
have  detected  such  company  at  once.  As  I was  going 
away  Miss  Emeline,”  Miss  Adelaide,  and  Madame 
Rosalie,  gave  me  their  cards. 

I saw  this  morning  the  Queen  and  the  King’s  most 
excellent  Majesty.  They  passed  through  the  Champs 
Ely  sees  to  their  country  habitation  at  Neuilly.  The 
equipage  was  a plain  carriage  with  six  horses;  a pos- 
tillion on  a front  and  one  on  a rear  horse ; two  other  car- 
riages and  four,  and  guards.  To  see  a king  for  the 
first  time  is  an  event.  Ai’nt  you  mad? — you  who 
never  saw  any  thing  over  there  bigger  than  his  most 
unchristian  Majesty  Black  Hawk,  and  Higglewiggin 
his  squaw.  I have  now  come  to  the  interesting  part 
of  this  letter.  I am  yours. 


104 


THE  TUILERIES. 


LETTER  V. 


The  Tuileries — The  Gardens — The  Statues — The  Cabinets  de  Lec- 
ture— The  King’s  Band — Regulations  of  the  Gardens — Yankee 
modesty — The  English  Parks — Proper  estimate  of  Riches — Policy 
of  cultivating  a taste  for  innocent  pleasures — Advantages  of  gardens 
— Should  be  made  ornamental — Cause  of  the  French  Revolution — 
Mr.  Burke’s  notion  of  the  English  Parks — Climate  of  France. 

Paris,  July  24th,  1835. 

I AM  going  now  to  escort  you  to  the  Tuileries,  for 
which  you  must  scramble  through  a few  filthy  lanes  a 
quarter  of  a mile  towards  the  southwest.  Who  would 
live  in  this  rank  old  Paris  if  it  was  not  for  its  gardens.^ 
This  garden  is  in  the  midst  of  the  city,  and  contains 
near  a hundred  acres  of  ground.  It  has  the  Seine  on 
the  south  side,  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries  on  the  east, 
and  on  the  north  the  beautiful  houses  of  the  Rue 
Rivoli,  the  street  intervening,  and  on  the  west  the 
Place  Louis  XV.  between  it  and  the  Champs  Elysees. 
The  whole  is  enclosed  with  an  iron  railing  tipped  with 
gold  near  the  Palace,  and  terraces  having  a double  row 
of  tile  trees  are  raised  along  the  north  and  south  sides. 
A beautiful  parterre  is  spread  out  in  front  of  the  Pa- 
lace, of  oranges,  red  rosed  laurels,  and  other  shrub- 
bery, with  a reservoir,  jets  d^eaux^  vases  and  statues. 
The  chief  walks  also  have  orange  trees  on  both  mar- 
gins during  the  summer,  and  one  of  these  as  wide  as 
Chesnut  street,  runs  from  the  centre  Pavilion  of  the 
Palace  through  the  middle  of  the  garden  and  con- 
tinuing up  through  the  Champs  Elysees  to  the  Bar- 


THE  GARDENS, 


105 


riere  dePEtoile,  terminates  in  a full  view  of  the  great 
triumphal  arch  of  Napoleon.  In  the  interior  are  plots 
of  woodland,  and  chairs  upon  which,  at  two  sous  the 
sitting,you  may  repose  or  read  in  the  shade,  and  little 
cabinets,  which  offer  you  for  a sou  your  choice  of  the 
Newspapers.  The  area  is  of  hard  earth  and  gravel, 
relieved  here  and  there  by  enclosures  of  verdure,  and 
on  the  west  end  an  octagonal  lake  is  inhabited  by 
swans,  and  fishes  and  river  gods,  and  a fountain  is 
jetting  its  silvery  streams  in  the  air.  Tins  is  the  gar- 
den of  the  Tuileries. — The  whole  surface  is  sprinkled 
with  heathen  Mythology.  Hercules  strangles  the 
Hydra,  Theseus  deals  blows  to  the  Minotaur.  Pro- 
metheus sits  sullen  on  his  rock,  and  Antinous  is  mad 
to  see  his  own  gardens  outdone,  and  the  Pius  ^neas, 
little  Jule  by  the  hand,  bears  off  his  aged  parent  upon 
his  shoulders.  Venus  too  looks  beautiful  a-straddle  of 
a tortoise,  and  Ceres  is  beautiful,  her  head  coiffed  in  the 
latest  fashion  with  sheaves  of  wheat.  On  the  side 
next  the  Palace  you  will  see  a knife-grinder,  whom 
every  body  admires,  and  statues  of  ancient  heroes  and 
statesmen  majestic  on  their  pedestals,  Pericles,  Cincin- 
natus,  Scipio,  Caesar  and  Spartacus.  You  may  ima- 
gine what  life  these  images,  set  out  alone  and  in 
groups  through  the  garden,  give  to  the  perspective. — 
The  whole  scene  is  as  beautiful  as  my  description  of 
it  is  detestable.  The  French  are  justly  proud  of  this 
garden  and  are  every  year  increasing  the  quantity  of 
its  statuary,  it  will  become  at  length  one  of  the  splen- 
did galleries  of  the  capital;  its  silent  lessons  improving 
the  public  taste  in  the  arts  and  elegancies  of  life,  how 
much  better  than  the  lessons  of  the  schools!  I like  to 
see,  in  spite  of  English  authority,  a good  deal  of  art  in 


106 


BEAUTIFUL  WALKS. 


a city  garden,  a rude  and  uncivilised  field  seems  to  me 
no  more  appropriate  there  than  a savage  and  unpolish- 
ed community. 

In  this  garden  there  is  no  drinking,  no  smoking,  no 
long  faces  waiting  the  preliminary  soups,  or  turning 
up  of  noses  over  the  relics  of  a departed  dinner.  It  is 
a spot  sacred  to  the  elegant  and  intellectual  enjoy- 
ments. The  great  walks  are  filbd  every  fine  evening 
with  a full  stream  of  fashionable  company,  and  that 
near  the  Rue  Rivoli  has  always  a hedge  of  ladies  ex- 
tending along  each  margin  the  third  of  a mile.  In 
another  section  a thousand  or  two  of  children  are  en- 
gaged in  their  infantile  sports,  and  their  army  of  nurses 
are  gathering  also  a share  of  the  health  and  amuse- 
ments. Here  are  the  most  graceful  little  mothers  and 
children  and  nurses  of  the  world;  I will  send  you  over 
one  of  each  some  of  these  days  for  a pattern. 

How  delightful  to  walk  of  an  early  morning  amidst 
this  silent  congregation  of  statues  of  eminent  men,  of 
heroes,  and  mythological  deities.  I often  rise  with  the 
first  dawn  for  the  sole  luxury  of  this  enjoyment.  Very 
early  the  Cabinet  de  lecture  opens  its  treasures  to  the 
anxious  politicians,  who  sit  retired  here  and  there 
through  the  shady  elms.  One  with  a doctrinal  air 
spreads  open  the  Journal  des  Debats;’’  he  reads,  ru- 
minates, ponders,  and  now  and  then  writes  down  an 
idea  on  his  tablets;  another  pours  out  his  whole  spirit 
through  his  tangled  hair  and  grisly  mustachios,  de- 
vouring the  National;”  he  rises  sometimes,  clenches 
his  two  fists,  and  sits  down  again;  and  a third  in  a 
neat  and  venerable  garb,  a snuff-colored  coat  and  tie- 
wig,  his  handkerchief  and  snuff-box  at  his  side  (from 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain)  lays  deliberately  upon  his 


THE  LONELY  STRANGER. 


107 


lap  the  ^^Qiiotidienne.’^  And  here  and  there  you  will 
see  a diligent  school  boy  preparing  his  college  recita- 
tions; perusing  his  Ovid  at  the  side  of  a Daphne  and 
Apollo,  or  by  a group  of  Dryads  skulking  behind  an 
oak  or  of  Naiads  plunging  into  a fountain.  You  will 
see  one  individual  upon  the  southern  terrace,  his  hands 
clasped,  walking  lonely,  or  standing  still,  his  eyes 
stretched  towards  the  west,  till  a tear  steals  down  his 
cheeks.  He  is  a stranger,  and  a thousand  leagues  of 
ocean  yawn  between  him  and  his  native  country!  I 
love  this  terrace  of  all  things:  it  has  a look  towards 
home.  When  I receive  your  letters  I come  here  to 
read  them — and  to  read  them;  and  when  a pretty  wo- 
man honors  me  with  her  company,  why  we  come 
hither  together,  and  in  this  shady  bower,  I tell  her  of 
our  squaw  wives  and  the  little  pappooses,  until  the 
sun  fades  away  in  the  west. 

All  day  long  this  elegant  saloon  has  its  society,  and 
a lady  can  walk  in  it,  unaccompanied,  when  and 
whither  she  pleases.  Every  day  is  fashionable,  but 
some,  more  than  others,  and  from  four  till  six,  are  the 
fashionable  hours.  The  crowd  by  degrees  thickens, 
the  several  groups  are  formed,  and  toAvards  four,  the 
panorama  is  complete.  This  is  the  time  that  one 
stands  gaping  at  the  long  file  of  ladies  upon  each  side 
of  the  Avide  walk,  or  that  one  strolls  up  and  down 
eyeing  them  along  the  intervening  avenue,  or  airs  or 
fans  ones  idle  minutes  upon  the  terrace  overlooking  this 
scene  of  enchantment.  I never  venture  in  here,  with- 
out saying  that  part  of  the  Lord^s  prayer  about  temp- 
tation, which  I used  to  leave  out  in  the  Coal  Region. 
At  length  the  day  is  subdued,  and  the  long  glimmer- 


108 


A SCENE  OF  ENCHANTMENT. 


ing  twilight,  peculiar  to  these  northern  climates,  wanes 
away  gently  into  night.  Then  the  king’s  band  strikes 
up  its  concert  from  the  front  of  the  palace,  and  then 
you  will  see  the  gravelled  walk  leading  to  the  steps  of 
the  royal  residence,  and  the  transversal  alley,  filled 
with  ten  thousend  listeners,  bound  in  the  spell  of  Ro- 
sini  and  Mozart  for  an  hour;  an  hour  too,  in  which  the 
air  has  a more  balmy  fragrance,  and  the  music  a more 
delicious  harmony.  Innumerable  lights  in  the  mean 
time  shine  out  from  the  Palace  windows,  and  the  Rue 
Rivoli,  and  glimmer  through  the  tufted  trees  of  the 
garden.  The  plantation  of  elms  has  also  at  this  hour 
its  little  enchantments.  Lovers  using  the  sweet  op- 
portunities of  the  night,  and  seated  apart  from  the 
crowd,  breathe  their  soft  whisperings  into  each  others, 
ears,  in  abetter  music  than  the  king’s,  and  you  can  see 
visions  of  men  and  women,  just  flit  by  you  now  and 
then  in  the  doubtful  light,  and  fade  away  into  the  thin 
air.  But  I am  venturing  upon  the  poetical  point  of 
my  description,  which  I had  better  leave  to  your  fancy. 
Alas,  I squandered  away  all  my  poetry  last  week 
upon  the  Palais  Royal,  and  have  left  myself  nothing 
but  mere  prose  to  describe  to  you  the  exquisite  and  in- 
comparable Tiiileries. 

The  regulations  of  this  garden  are  simple.  The 
world  is  admitted,  if  trim  and  dressed  decently,  with 
the  morning  dawn,  and  is  dispersed  about  nine  in  the 
evening  by  the  beating  of  a drum.  One  is  not  per- 
mitted to  enter  with  any  thing  of  a large  bundle.  The 
minister  of  Finance  was  stopped  the  other  day;  he  was 
attempting  to  enter  with  the  budget  for  this  year! 
The  rules  are  enforced  by  an  individual  accoutred  in  a 


THE  MODEST  YANKEE. 


10^ 


beard,  mustachios,  red  breeches  and  a carabine,  who 
walks  gravely  up  and  down  at  the  entrance  of  each 
gate. 

The  statues  (Lucretia  and  all)  are  exposed  in  a 
state  of  the  most  unsophisticated  nakedness.  If  mother 
Eve  should  come  back,  she  would  find  things  here 
just  as  she  left  them,  Avith  the  exception  of  the  aprons. 
This  to  us  green  Americans,  at  our  arrival,  is  a sub- 
ject of  great  scandal.  I had  with  me  a modest.  Yan- 
kee (please  excuse  the  tautology)  on  my  first  visit  here, 
and  we  stumbled  first  on  a Venus  de  Medici,  which 
was  passable,  for  she  apologised  manibus  passis  for 
her  deshabille  as  well  as  she  could;  then  a Hercules, 
and  at  length  we  fell  in  with  a Venus  just  leaving  her 
bath;  Come,’^  said  he,  interrupting  my  curiosity,  and 
drawing  me  aside,  let  us  go^out,  I don’t  think  this  is 
a decent  place.”  You  must  not  imagine,  however, 
my  dear,  that  you  American  are  essentially  more 
* * * ^ ^ * *.  Things  of  every  day’s  occurrence  are 
never  a subject  of  remark;  and  if  our  first  mother  had 
not  begun  these  modesties  of  the  toilette,  the  world 
might  have  gone  on,  as  in  her  time,  and  no  one  would 
have  taken  notice  of  it.  Americans  (I  presume  I may 
mention  it  to  their  credit)  are  more  easily  reconciled  to 
the  customs  of  foreign  nations  than  any  other  people; 
they  are  more  plastic  and  easily  fitted  to  every  condi- 
tion of  life.  Talk  to  any  one  f your  acquaintance,  of 
a community  of  lodging  in  her  mansion  in  Chesnut 
street,  and  she  will  have  a fit  oi  hysterics  at  least,  and 
six  months  after,  you  Avill  find  her  climbing  up  a long 
Parisian  staircase  as  long  as  Jacob’s  ladder,  in  com- 
mon with  half  a dozen  of  families,  and  delighted  with 
her  apartments.  An  Englishman  or  Frenchman  in  for- 
VoL.  I.— 10 


110 


SQUARES  OF  PHILADELPHIA. 


eign  countries  can  no  more  change  his  habits  than  the 
w^thiop  his  skin. 

I may  as  well  go  on  gardening  through  the  whole 
of  this  letter.  Our  little  squares  and  squaroids  of  Phila- 
delphia have  their  little  advantages;  I do  not  mean  to 
disparage  them,  but  from  want  of  extent  they  are  not 
susceptible  of  any  elegant  improvement,  nor  do  they 
furnish  a promiscuous  multitude  with  the  necessary 
accommodations;  they  lose,  therefore,  their  rank  in  so- 
ciety, and  become  unfashionable.  All  your  pretty 
squarettes,  and  I believe  those  of  New^York  too,  could 
be  put  into  the  Tuileries  alone.  I have  not  yet  seen 
the  English  Parks,  but  report  says  they  would  swallow 
up  our  whole  city.  And  I have  known  even  these 
little  spots  of  ours  to  be  looked  at  with  a suspicious 
eye.  I have  heard  men  calculate  the  value  of  the 
houses  and  other  things  which  might  be  built  upon 
them.  The  Independence  Square’^  is  worth  a thou- 
sand dollars  a foot,  every  inch  of  it;  why  don’t  the 
New  Yorkquois  sell  their  Battery?  Oh,  the  magnifi- 
cent wharves,  and  the  warehouses  and  hotels  that 
might  grow  upon  it!  Besides,  who  but  the  caterpil- 
lars, and  they  half  starved,  venture  into  it?  With  all 
its  breezes  from  the  sea,  its  port  more  beautiful  than 
Naples,  its  fleets  laden  with  India,  Persia  and  Arabia, 
a fashionable  woman  will  not  look  through  the  fence 

Railroads  and  spinning-ginnies,  are  to  be  sure  ex- 
cellent things,  but  they  lead  us  too  much  to  measure 
value  by  its  capacity  to  supply  some  physical  neces- 
sity, and  to  forget  that  the  moral  condition  of  man  has 
also  its  wants.  If  riches  only  were  necessary  to  the 
prosperity  of  a nation,  I should  to  day  perhaps,  in- 
stead of  the  Boulevards,  be  strolling  through  the 


TRUE  ESTIMATE  OF  RICHES. 


Ill 


fashionable  streets  of  Babylon.  If  a painting,  or  a 
statue,  by  perpetuating  the  memory  of  virtuous  and 
religious  men,  and  the  glorious  events  of  history,  has 
the  power  of  elevating  the  mind  and  inspiring  it  Avith 
emulous  feelings,  as  Scipio  Africanus  and  other  great 
men  used  to  testify;  if  it  has  the  power  of  improving 
taste,  which  is  improving  virtue,  or  affording  pleasure, 
which  is  a part  of  our  natural  wants,  or  even  of  em- 
ploying time  innocently,  which  might  be  otherwise 
employed  wickedly — perhaps  in  getting  drunk  at  the 
tavern — why  then  a statue,  or  a painting,  is  not  only 
more  ornamental,  but  as  useful  as  a steam-engine  or  a 
spinning-ginny.  The  Scythian  who  preferred  the 
neighing  of  a horse,  to  a fine  air  of  Timotheus,  no 
doubt  was  a good  Scythian,  but  we  are  not,  in  our 
present  relations  with  the  world,  to  remain  long  in  a 
state  of  Scythian  simplicity,  but  it  is  worth  while  to 
consider  what  is  about  to  be  the  condition  of  a people, 
who  have  grown  luxurious,  consequently  vicious, 
without  the  refinements,  and  distractions  of  the  fine 
arts  and  liberal  amusements.  Utility  with  all  her 
arithmetic  very  often  miscalculates.  By  keeping  va- 
cant spaces  open  in  the  midst  of  a tOAvn,  an  equivalent 
value  is  given  to  other  localities.  A garden  Avould 
bring  many,  who  now  waste  their  time  in  travelling 
into  airy  situations,  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  Ex- 
change and  other  places  of  business,  and  it  would 
drive  many  out  from  such  places,  who  may  as  well 
be  any  where  else — whose  time  at  least  is  of  less 
value. 

Since  human  nature  will  have  her  diversion,  the 
business  of  the  statesman  is  to  amuse  her  innocently, 
that  is,  to  multiply  pleasures  which  are  cheap  and  ac- 


112 


SOCIAL  PLEASUKES. 


cessible  to  all — pleasures  which  are  healthy,  and  es- 
pecially those  which  are  public.  Men  never  take  bad 
habits  under  the  eye  of  the  world;  but  secret  amuse- 
ments are  sedentary,  unhealthy,  and  all  lead  to  disre- 
putable and  dangerous  excesses.  Every  one  knows 
the  social  disposition  of  our  race;  it  is  a disposition 
founded  upon  both  our  good  and  bad  passions — upon 
our  love  of  kindred,  and  other  loves — upon  a sense  of 
weakness  and  dependence;  and  curiosity,  vanity,  and 
even  malevolence  find  their  gratification  in  social  in- 
tercourse. It  is,  therefore,  the  duty  of  statesmen  to 
study  that  our  crowds  and  meetings  of  pleasure,  which 
they  cannot  prevent,  should  not  be  in  gin-shops  and 
taverns.  Let  us  have  gardens,  then,  and  other  public 
places  where  we  may  see  our  friends,  and  parade  our 
vanities,  if  you  will,  before  the  eyes  of  the  world. — 
Did  you  ever  know  any  one,  who  was  not  delighted 
with  a garden!  What  are  the  best  descriptions  of  the 
best  poets?  Their  gardens.  It  is  the  original  taste, 
it  is  transmitted  from  Paradise;  and  is  almost  the  only 
gratification  of  the  rich  that  does  not  cloy  in  the  pos- 
session. I know  an  English  gentleman  here,  who 
has  worn  out  all  the  pleasures  that  money  can  buy,  at 
twenty  eight;  he  is  peevish,  ill-natured,  and  insupport- 
able; we  sometimes  walk  together  into  the  Luxem- 
bourg, where  he  suddenly  brightens  up,  and  is  agree- 
able, and  as  happy  for  a while  as  if  he  was  no  lord. 

To  know  the  advantages  of  these  places  to  the  poor 
one  must  visit  the  close  alleys,  crowded  courts,  and 
over-peopled  habitations  of  an  overgrown  city;  where 
vices  and  diseases  are  festering  in  secret  in  the  heart 
of  the  community.  Why  send  missionaries  to  the 
South  Seas,  while  these  infected  districts  are  unre- 


ADVANTAGES  OF  GARDENS. 


113 


claimed?  or  why  talk  of  popular  religion,  and  morals, 
and  education ! — the  people  who  would  employ  about 
half  the  care  and  expense  in  preventing  a disposition 
to  vice,  that  they  now  employ  in  correcting  it,  would 
be  the  people  the  most  happy  and  innocent  of  the  earth. 
The  best  specifics,  I can  conceive,  against  the  vaga- 
bond population  of  a city,  are  gardens,  airy  streets, 
and  neat  houses.  Men’s  habits  of  life  are  degraded 
always  to  the  meanness  of  their  lodgings;  if  we  build 
beggar’s  nests,”  we  must  expect  beggars  to  breed  in 
them. 

Gardens  give  a taste  for  out-door  exercises,  and 
thereby  promote  health  and  physical  development;  and 
they  aid  in  keeping  up  the  energy  of  a nation,  which 
city  life,  in  depriving  the  women  and  children  of  air 
and  exercise,  tends  perpetually  to  destroy.  To  the 
children  they  give  not  only  habits  of  health,  cheerful- 
ness, and  gracefulness,  but  an  emulation  of  neatness, 
and  good  manners,  which  they  would  surely  not  ac- 
quire under  the  sober  stimulus  of  home  and  the  nur- 
sery; to  the  nurses,  too,  they  impart  a valuable  share 
of  the  same  benefits.  Finally,  by  gardens  and  other 
embellishments  of  a city  we  induce  strangers  to  reside 
there.  About  fifty  thousand  English  are  now  resi- 
dents in  France,  and  their  necessary  expense  is  rated 
at  half  a million  of  pounds  sterling  annually.  It  is 
perhaps  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  no  property  pays 
so  abundant  a revenue  to  a city  as  its  gardens.  What 
is  it  that  produces  to  a city  the  same  reputation? 
Who  speaks  of  Madrid  without  its  Prado,  of  London 
without  its  Parks?  And  why  should  Paris  be  the 
choice  residence  of  Europe,  but  for  its  galleries,  and 
public  gardens;  its  Tuileries,  its  Palais  Royal,  its 

10^ 


114 


MANNERS  OF  THE  LOWER  CLASSES. 


Luxembourg,  Tivoli,  its  Champs  Elysees,  and  Bois 
de  Boulogne? 

But  to  make  gardens  is  not  enough;  you  must  cul- 
tivate the  public  taste  for  them.  For  this  it  is  neces- 
sary, that  they  be  made  ornamental,  kept  by  a vigi- 
lant police,  and  that  fashionable  women  should  fre- 
quent them.  The  French  women  have  better  sense 
of  their  advantages  than  to  suffer  their  fine  gardens 
to  become  vulgar.  They  have  to  be  sure  days  and 
hours  that  are  more  genteel  than  others;  but  they  are 
to  be  seen  there  every  day,  and  there  is  room  for  all 
classes  without  incommoding  each  other.  Even  the 
poorer  classes  will  not  frequent  a garden  that  only 
poor  devils  visit.  They  are  flattered  to  be  seen 
within  the  sphere  of  good  company,  and  are  encou- 
raged to  appear  there  with  becoming  decency.  It  is 
not  to  be  denied  that  the  poorer  people  of  Paris  are 
decent  in  their  manners,  and  dress,  and  graceful  be- 
yond the  example  of  all  other  nations.  In  what  more 
serviceable  manner  can  a lady  of  fortune  benefit  her 
country  and  humanity,  than  by  improving  the  man- 
ners and  elevating  the  character  of  the  lower  classes? 
she  is  taking  care  of  her  own  interest  in  taking  care  of 
the  poor.  It  was  the  pride  of  the  French  nobility,  and 
not  the  Jacobins,  that  set  loose  the  many-headed 
tyranny  of  their  revolution;  it  was  not  Robespierre, 
but  Louis  XIV,  and  Louis  XV,  who  put  the  axe  to 
the  throat  of  their  unhappy  successor. 

Much  intercourse  of  mind  or  society  is  not  indeed 
to  be  expected  between  two  classes  of  a different  edu- 
cation and  fortune;  nor  can  it  be  desired  by  either;  but 
there  is  nothing  in  our  code  of  morals  or  religion,  which 
can  justify  either  one  in  treating  the  other  with  un- 
kindness or  incivility.  True  dignity  has  no  need  to 


MR.  BURKE^S  OPINION. 


115 


stand  on  the  defensive.  A lady  who  has  little  of  this 
quality,  will  always  be  most  afraid  to  compromise  it 
by  vulgar  associations;  it  is  right  to  be  economical  of 
what  one  has  little.  The  contempt  of  the  rabble, 
which  we  hear  of  so  much,  where  not  sheer  ignorance, 
is,  three-fourths  of  it,  parade  and  affectation.  She, 
who  abroad  hangs  the  common  world  with  so  much 
scorn  upon  her  nose,  lives  at  Irome,  under  the  same 
roof,  almost  at  the  same  table,  with  the  veriest  rabble 
of  the  whole  community,  her  own  servants  and  slaves. 
Why  should  we  abandon  the  Tuileries  more  than  the 
Boulevards,  and  why  the  Washington  Square  more 
than  Chesnut  street,  because  the  common  people  walk 
in  it? — I have  written  upon  this  subject  more  at  length 
and  more  earnestly  than  perhaps  I ought  from  the  mor- 
tification, the  almost  indignation  1 feel  after  witnessing 
the  utility  and  ornament  of  gardens  in  other  countries, 
at  the  immense  defect  occasioned  by  their  stupid  omis- 
sion in  the  face  of  European  experience,  in  the  beauty 
and  comfort  of  our  American  cities. 

But  without  more  scolding  let  as  see  how  far  the 
evil  may  admit  of  a remedy.  Mr.  Burke,  in  pleading 
for  the  English  Parks,  which  the  Utilitarians  of  the 
day  proposed  to  sacrifice  to  some  temporary  conve- 
nience, or  miserly  policy,  called  them  the  lungs  of  the 
city,’^  and  supplicated  the  government  not  to  obstruct 
the  public  health  in  one  of  its  most  vital  and  necessary 
functions.  The  question  here  is  with  our  Philadel- 
phia, which  never  had  any  other  lungs  than  the  grave- 
yards, to  supply  these  respiratory  organs.  I propose 
that  some  one  of  your  old  bachelors,  as  rich  as  Girard, 
shall  die,  as  soon  as  he  can  conveniently  be  spared, 
and  leave  us  a second  legacy  to  be  appropriated  as 


116 


A FRENCH  SUMMER. 


follows;  to  buy  two  lots  of  fifty  acres  each  upon  the 
west  bank  of  the  Schuylkill;  (they  ought  to  be  in  the 
centre  of  the  city,  but  time  will  place  them  there;)  the 
one  for  the  parade  of  equipages,  display  of  horseman- 
ship and  military  training,  and  for  the  games,  and 
ceremonies  of  our  public  festivals;  the  other  to  be 
sacred  to  the  arts,  and  to  refined  and  intellectual 
pleasures.  I know  of  no  benefaction  by  which  he 
could  impose  upon  his  posterity  so  sacred  a debt  of 
gratitude;  there  is  none,  surely,  which  should  confer 
upon  its  author  so  lasting  and  glorious  a reputation. 

I have  not  a word  of  news;  only  that  my  health  has 
improved  very  much  to  the  credit  of  this  French  cli- 
mate; you  would  think  it  was  Spartacus  who  had  step- 
ped from  his  pedestal  in  the  Tuileries.  The  French 
summer  is  delightful;  only  think  of  reading  at  three  in 
the  morning  without  a candle,  and  stepping  about  in 
the  daylight  till  ten  o^clock  at  night.  Adieu. 


THE  GLORIOUS  DAYS. 


117 


LETTER  VI. 


The  Three  Glorious  Days — The  plump  little  Widow — Marriage  of 
fifteen  young  Girls — Shrines  of  the  Martyrs — Louis  Philippe — 
Dukes  of  Orleans  and  Nemours — The  National  Guards — Fiesclii — 
The  Infernal  Machine — Marshal  Mortier  and  twelve  persons  killed 
— Dismissal  of  the  Troops — The  Queen  and  her  Daughters — Dis- 
turbed state  of  France — The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Elements  of 
support  to  the  present  Dynasty — Private  character  of  the  King — 
The  Daily  Journals — The  Chamber  of  Peers — Bonaparte. 

Paris,  August  1st,  1835. 

The  Parisians  have  set  apart  three  days  annually, 
to  commemorate  their  Revolution  of  1830 — the  27th, 
28th  and  29th  of  July;  they  call  them  the  Three 
Glorious  Days.”  On  the  27th,  are  showers  of  ser- 
mons all  over  town  in  the  churches,  and  fastings  over 
good  dinners  in  the  cafes;  pious  visits,  too,  are  paid  to 
the  graves  of  those,  who  had  the  glory  of  being  killed 
on  the  original  three  days,”  who  are  called  “the 
martyrs,”  and  are  buried  on  or  near  the  spot  upon 
which  they  were  killed.  The  military  parade  is  the 
28th,  and  the  gala  or  jubilee  day  is  the  29th. 

As  the  time  approaches,  the  town  is  big  with  visi- 
ters, and  all  is  noise  and  preparation.  Yew  trees  are 
planted  by  the  graves  of  the  “martyrs,”  where  the 
dogs  and  other  obscene  animals,  the  rest  of  the  year, 
wallow;  and  willows  are  set  a-weeping  several  days 
before.  Theatres  are  erected,  at  the  same  time,  and 
orchestras,  and  platforms  for  the  buffoons;  and  the 
illuminations,  which  they  keep  ready  made  from  year 


118 


LITTLE  WIDOW. 


to  year,  are  brought  out  upon  the  Champs  Elysees. 
Every  evening  the  whole  of  Paris  comes  out  to  see 
these  works,  and  says:  this  is  for  the  mourning  of  the 
27th,  and  this  is  for  the  dancing  of  the  29th.  On  the 
present  occasion,  a rain  had  turned  the  streets  into 
mud;  but  the  F rench  turn  out  on  their  fete  days,  mud 
or  no  mud,  and  in  numbers  far  exceeding  our  notions 
of  arithmetic. 

The  27th  arrived,  and  every  street  and  avenue 
poured  their  waves  into  the  Boulevards  and  Champs 
Elysees,  as  so  many  rivers  their  waters  to  the  ocean. 
A plump  little  widow  of  our  hotel,  offered  to  guide 
my  inexperience  in  the  crowd,  which  I accepted.  I 
took  her  for  her  skill  in  the  town,  and  she  me  for  my 
manhood,  as  a blind  person  takes  a lame  one  for  the 
use  of  his  eyes. — I should  have  profited  by  her  ser- 
vices, but  she  was  no  sooner  on  the  street,  than  she 
ran  right  off  in  a hurry,  each  of  her  little  feet  doing 
its  uttermost  to  get  before  the  other,  and  kept  me  run- 
ning after  her  all  day  long; — you  have  sometimes  seen 
a colt  running  after  its  mother,  now  falling  behind, 
and  now  catching  up  with  her;  and  there  were  just 
in  front  of  me,  I verily  believe,  five  thousand  French 
women,  each  exhibiting  a pair  of  pretty  ankles.  A 
stranger  has  a great  many  things  to  see  that  are  no 
curiosities  to  the  natives.  Never  take  a native  with 
you  as  a guide,  but  always  some  one  who  knows  no 
more  than  yourself.  On  these  muddy  occasions,  a 
French  woman  just  places  her  hand  upon  the  right  hip, 
gathering  up  her  lower  gear  on  the  nether  side  to  the 
level  of  the  knee,  and  then  whips  along,  totally  regard- 
less of  that  part  of  the  world  that  is  behind  her:  as  in 
a chariot  race  you  see  the  charioteer  bending  over  the 


MARRIAGE  OF  THE  MARTYRS- 


119 


lash,  and  striving  after  the  one  just  before  him,  not 
caring  a straw  for  those  he  has  passed  by. — You  might 
have  seen  my  guide  and  me,  one  while  walking 
slowly  and  solemnly  in  a file  of  Sisters  of  Charity, 
and  then  looking  down  upon  an  awful  procession 
from  a gallery  of  the  Boulevards;  next  you  might 
have  seen  us  behind  a bottle  of  vin  ordinaire,’’  at 
the  cafe  Turc;  and  then  seated  snugly  together  at  the 
church  of  St.  Roch.  Here  we  witnessed  an  interest- 
ing ceremony — a marriage.  Fifteen  young  girls,  and 
the  same  number  of  young  men,  children  of  the  mar- 
tyrs were  intermarried.  They  are  apportioned  by  the 
government;  and  the  marrying  is  to  continue  till  the 
whole  stock  is  married  off  as  encouragement  to  new 

martyrs.”  We  stayed  one  hour  here,  and  had  a great 
deal  of  innocent  squeezing,  with  prayers  and  sacred 
music,  and  then  we  went  home,  and  had  capons  for 
dinner. 

After  this  repast,  I sallied  out  again,  under  the  aegis 
of  my  same  guide,  who  now  led  me  through  weary 
and  intricate  passages,  and  through  thickets  of  men 
and  women,  all  getting  along  in  the  slime  of  each 
others’  tracks,  towards  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Here,  in 
the  midst  of  an  immense  crowd,  were  the  shrines  of 
the  martyrs,  and  over  them  a chapel  of  crape,  with  all 
the  other  mournful  emblems.  The  relatives  of  the 
deceased  were  hanging  up  chaplets  and  reverend  men 
were  saying  prayers,  and  sprinkling  holy  water  upon 
the  graves.  I thought  of  the  dog  whose  master  lies 
bound  here — the  dog  so  pathetically  sung  by  Beran- 
ger. 


120 


THE  NATIONAL  GUARDS. 


By  the  Louvre  gate 

Where  buried  lie  the  men  of  July, 

And  flowers  are  flung  by  the  passer-by, 

The  dog  howls  desolate. 

Dreaming  on  the  grave  he  hears  his  master’s  whis- 
tle in  the  night 

“ II  I’entend  qui  siffle  dans  Tornbre, 

&e  leve  et  saute  a pres  son  ornbre 
En  gemissant.” 


July  28th. 

This  day  was  given  to  the  general  parade.  More 
than  a hundred  thousand  of  the  National  Guards  were 
arrayed  upon  the  Boulevards;  and  the  side  walks  were 
choaked  up,  and  running  over  with  the  crowd,  which 
was  pushed  back  now  and  then,  in  great  fright  and  con- 
fusion, by  the  gens  d’armes,and  the  tails  of  the  horses; 
and  all  the  rest  of  Paris  looked  on  from  the  windows, 
balconies,  and  roofs  of  the  adjoining  houses — I as  much 
noticed  as  a leaf  of  the  Alleghany,  upon  a verandah  of 
the  Boulevard  du  Temple.  Great  was  the  noise,  and 
long  and  patient  the  expectation.  At  length  there 
was  a sudden  flustering  and  bustle  among  the  multi- 
tude, and  I sat  up  closer  to  Madame  Dodu — it  was  the 
King!  He  was  accompanied  by  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
and  the  Duke  of  Nemours,  his  sons,  and  passed  along 
the  line,  followed  by  officers  on  horseback,  very  grim. 
He  was  received  with  not  very  ardent  acclamations. 
Compared  to  “ General  Jackson’s  visit,”  it  was  a fifth 
rate  thing.  Not  a bird,  though  many  flew  over  us, 
fell  dead.  But  how  shall  I describe  to  you  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  j>omp?  since  in  our  country  there  is  no 
comparisorn  How  should  we — we^  who  can  hardly 


EXHIBITION  OF  HUMAN  STRENGTH.  121 

contain  the  Washington  Greys,  or  Blues — which  is  it? 
with  Johnson’s  band,  and  twenty  little  boys  who  run 
after  them — how  should  we  be  able  to  conceive  of  a 
regular  infantry  of  more  than  a hundred  thousand  men, 
with  their  ten  thousand  drums,  and  trumpets,  and 
clarions,  and  accoutred  in  uniform,  and  trained  to  the 
last  grace  and  dexterity  of  discipline?  But,  alas!  what 
avails  to  individual  power  this  exhibition  of  human 
strength,  since  we  see  its  haughtiest  pretensions,  every 
day,  the  sport  of  some  ignominious  chance?  Achilles, 
they  say  was  killed  by  the  most  effeminate  roue  of  all 
Troy;  and  his  great  descendant,  Pyrrhus,  by  an  old 
woman,  who  lived  au  troisieme^^^  and  pitched,  the 
Lord  knows  what,  upon  his  head  through  her  win- 
dow. What  signifies  the  strength  of  Hercules,  if  it 
maybe  outwrestled  by  a vapor? — It  is  vexatious,  too 
to  see  how  much  events  are  under  the  control  of  acci- 
dent, and  how  little  Providence  seems  to  trouble  itself 
about  them;  and  to  think  how  vain  a thing  is  that 
boast  of  the  world — human  wisdom ! I knew  a man 
who  missed  his  fortune,  and  was  ruined  by  his  pru- 
dence; and  another,  who  saved  his  house  from  being 
burnt  by  his  foolishness!  Who  has  not  heard  of  no 
less  an  emperor  than  Bonaparte  being  saved  by  some 
vanity  of  his  wife? — the  Infernal  Machine  blowing  up, 
she  fixing  her  tournure,  or  something  in  her  chamber; 
and  he  fretting  at  the  delay,  and  churning  his  spite 
through  his  teeth?  Why,  I have  read  of  a lady,  who 
preserved  her  life  by  staying  at  home  at  loo,  on  a Sun- 
day, instead  of  going  to  prayers,  where  the  church  fell 
in,  and  killed  the  whole  congregation.  Yet,  Avith  all 
this  experience,  men  still  continue  to  be  haughty  of 
their  strength,  self-sufficient  of  their  wisdom,  and  to 
Voi.  I— 11 


122 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINE. 


throw  Providence  in  each  others’  teeth,  when  any 
thing  happens. — But  this  morality  is  interrupting  the 
thread  of  my  story.  As  the  king  and  his  escort  ap- 
proached the  east  end  of  the  Boulevards,  a deadly  ma- 
chine, prepared  by  a man  named  Fieschi,  (Infernal 
Machine  maker  to  his  Majesty,)  was  discharged  from 
the  window  of  a small  wine  store,  and  made  havoc  of 
the  crowd;  the  king,  with  his  two  sons,  by  a special 
Providence,  standing  unhurt  amidst  the  slaughter — 
not  a hair  was  singed,  not  a garment  was  rent! — He 
continued  to  the  end  of  the  line,  and  returned  over  the 
scene  of  the  murder.  His  cool  and  undaunted  coun- 
tenance gave  a favorable  opinion  of  his  courage;  and 
his  danger,  accompanied  by  such  cruel  circumstances, 
has  turned  the  sympathies  of  a great  many  in  his 
favor,  who  cared  not  a straw  for  him  yesterday.  Of 
the  twelve  persons  killed,  Marshal  Mortier,  Duke  of 
Treviso,  is  the  most  distinguished.  Eighteen  persons 
were  wounded.  I was  so  near  as  to  smell  the  gun- 
powder; which  was  quite  near  enough  for  a foreigner. 
I have  since  visited  the  battle  ground— what  an  atro- 
cious spectacle ! 

The  author  of  this  murder  is  a Corsican  who  has 
served  a long  time  his  apprenticeship  to  villany  in  the 
French  army.  I have  seen  his  machine;  it  is  com- 
posed of  a series  of  gun-barrels,  and  is  a bungling  con- 
trivance. The  French  with  all  their  experience  don’t 
shine  in  this  kind  of  manufacture.  It  would  seem  a 
most  contemptible  thing  in  the  eyes  of  a Kentucky 
rifleman.  This  fellow’s  fame,  however  is  assured;  he 
will  stand  conspicuous  in  the  catalogue  of  the  regicide 
villains.  The  others  have  all  aimed  at  a single  bird, 
but  he  at  the  whole  flock.  One  is  almost  tempted  to 


THE  ROYAL  FAMILY. 


123 


regret  that  Ravillac’s  boots  are  out  of  fashion.  He  at- 
tempted to  escape  through  a back  window,  but  the 
bursting  of  one  of  his  guns  disabled  him.  His  head 
is  fractured  and  mangled;  they  expect,  however,  that  by 
the  care  of  his  physician  he  may  get  well  enough  to  be 
hanged. 

The  last  scene,  the  dismissal  of  the  troops  was  in  the 
Place  Vendome,  where  I procured  a convenient  view 
of  the  ceremony. — I must  not  forget  that  in  this  place 
I lost  my  faithful  guide,  who  had  borne  the  fatigues  and 
adventures  of  the  day  with  me.  Whether  she  had 
wandered  from  the  way,  or  wearied  had  sat  down,  or 
had  stopped  to  garter  up  her  stockings  is  uncertain — 
certain  it  is  that  she  was  lost  here  in  the  crowd,  nec 
post  ocnlis  est  reddifa  nosfris.  On  the  west  of  the 
great  column,  the  statue  of  Bonaparte  all  the  while 
peering  over  him,  sat  the  king  on  horseback,  saluting 
the  brigades  as  they  passed  by.  His  three  sons  attoid- 
ed  him,  and  some  of  his  generals  and  foreign  ambas- 
sadors; and  the  queen  and  her  daughters,  and 
Madame  Adelaide,  the  sister,  and  such  like  fine  peo- 
ple were  on  a gallery  overhead,  fanned  by  the  national 
flags.  As  the  queen  descended  there  was  a shout 
from  the  multitude  more  animated  than  any  of  the 
whole  day.  The  king  sat  here  several  hours,  and  re- 
ceived the  affection  of  his  troops  bare  headed,  bow  fol- 
lowing bow  in  perpetual  succession,  and  each  bow  ac- 
companied by  a smile — just  such  a smile  as  one  is 
obliged  to  put  on,  when  one  meets  an  amiable  and 
pretty  woman  whom  one  loves,  in  a fit  of  the  colic. 

July  29th. 

All  Paris  was  so  overwhelmed  with  grief  for  the 
death  of  General  Mortier,  and  the  “ narrow  escape  of 


124 


DEATH  OF  MARSHAL  MORTIER. 


the  king/’  that  it  blighted  entirely  the  immense  en- 
joyment we  had  expected  for  this  day — the  last  and 
best  of  the  “ three  glorious  days.”  Ball-rooms  and 
theatres  were  erected  with  extraordinary  preparation 
all  over  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  the  fire-works  Avere 
designed  to  be  the  most  brilliant  ever  exhibited  in 
Europe.  Multitudes  had  come  from  distant  countries 
to  see  them.  I say  nothing  of  the  private  losses  and 
disappointments;  of  the  booths  and  fixtures  put  up 
and  now  to  be  removed,  and  the  consequent  ruin  of 
individuals;  or  of  the  sugar  plums,  candies,  ginger- 
bread nuts,  barley  sugar,  and  all  the  rancid  but- 
ter of  Paris  bought  up  to  make  shortcakes — all 
broken  up  by  this  one  man;  and  the  full  cup  of  plea- 
sure dashed  from  our  very  lips  to  the  ground.  We 
were  to  have  such  an  infinite  feast,  too,  furnished  by 
the  government.  As  for  me,  I was  delighted  a whole 
week  in  advance,  and  now — I am  very  sorry. 

Under  the  Empire,  and  before,  and  long  after,  it 
was  a common  part  of  a great  festival  here  to  have 
thrown  to  the  people  bread  and  meat,  and  Avine,  and 
to  set  them  to  scramble  for  the  possession,  as  they  do 
ravens,  or  hounds  in  a kennel,  or  the  beasts  at  the 
Menagerie.  To  put  the  half  starved  population  up 
as  an  amusement  for  their  better  fed  neighbors;  to  pelt 
them  with  pound  loaves  and  little  pies,  to  set  a hurri- 
cane of  sausages  to  rain  over  their  heads;  and  to  see 
the  hungry  clowns  gape  with  enormous  mouths,  and 
scramble  for  these  eatables,  and  to  see  the  officers,  face- 
tious felloAVs,  employed  to  heave  out  these  provisions, 
deceive  the  expectant  mouths,  by  feints  and  tricks,  by 
throwing  sometimes  a loaf  of  leather,  or  of  cork,  to 
leap  from  one  scull  to  another — Avhat  infinite  amuse- 


TURBULENCE  OF  THE  FRENCH. 


125 


ment!  One  of  the  benefits  of  the  last  Revolution, 
was  to  put  an  end  to  this  dishonor  of  the  French  na- 
tion. This  is  all  I liave  to  say  of  the  three  glorh^us 
days.’^  I must  trust  to-morrow  to  furnish  me  some- 
thing for  this  blank  space.  Good-night. 

Rue  St  Anne,  August  2d. 

Louis  Philippe  has  had  nothing  but  trouble  with 
these  French  people,  ever  since  he  undertook  their 
government.  He  has  about  the  same  enjoyment  of 
his  royalty,  as  one  sea-sick  has  of  the  majesty  of  the 
oceaiiv  He  is  lampooned  in  the  newspapers,  carica- 
tured in  the  print-shops,  hawked  about  town,  placard- 
ed upon  the  walls  of  every  street,  and  gibbeted  upon 
every  gateway  and  lamp-post  of  the  city.  In  1831, 
a revolt  was  suppressed  by  Marshal  Soult  at  Lyons; 
another  was  got  up  in  the  same  place  in  1834,  in 
which  there  were  six  days’  fighting,  six  thousand 
slain,  and  eighteen  hundred  crammed  into  the  prisons. 
In  Paris  there  were  three  days’  skirmishing  at  the 
Cloister  St.  Merri,  in  which  were  five  hundred  arrests 
in  one  night;  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  are  on  trial 
(the  Proces  Monstre,”  so  much  talked  of,)  in  the 
Chamber  of  Peers;  and  now  we  have  superadded 
this  affair  of  Fieschi,  with  great  expectations  for  the 
future. 

The  foreigners  here  are  full  of  ill-bodings,  and  I 
hear  nothing  but  revolutions  in  every  rustling  leaf. 
We  shall  have  our  brains  knocked  out  by  the  mob 
some  one  of  these  days.  It  rains  nothing  but  Da- 
miens and  Ravillacs,  and  Jacques  Clements,  all  over 
town.  Every  one  is  prophetic;  and  I am  going  after 
the  general  example  to  cast  the  king’s  horoscope 


126 


THE  CHAMBER  OF  DEPUTIES. 


quietly  in  my  comer  and  calculate  for  you  his  chances. 
It  will  be  a pretty  thing  if  I can’t  eke  out  a letter  from 
so  important  an  event,  and  the  only  one  of  any  kind 
that  has  happened  since  I have  been  in  Paris. 

The  main  strength  of  the  government  is  the  Cham- 
ber of  Deputies;  which  is  chosen  by  less  than  two 
hundred  thousand  electors.  It  represents  then,  not 
the  mass  of  the  people,  who  are  thirty-two  millions, 
but  property,  which  has  a natural  interest  in  peace 
and  quietude  upon  any  reasonable  terms.  Besides, 
the  voters  being  divided  into  small  electoral  colleges, 
e tangible,  and  easily  bribed  by  offices,  and  local 
interests;  and  the  members  of  the  Chamber  also  are 
allowed  to  hold  other  offices,  and  are  very  eager  to 
possess  them;  and  if  the  king  does  not  bind  both  these 
parties  about  his  neck,  he  has  less  policy  than  the 
world  gives  him  credit  for.  He  has  with  his  ministry, 
one  hundred  and. fifty  thousand  of  these  bribes  at  his 
disposal.  So  also  has  he  a large  majority  of  this 
Chamber  in  his  favor.  Freeholders  paying  less  than 
two  hundred  francs  annual  tax  are  not  entitled  to  a 
vote.  These  are  murmuring,  and  struggling  for  an 
extension  of  suffrage;  but  this  they  do  not  expect 
from  a change,  and  are  therefore  in  favor  of  the 
present  dynasty.  This  class,  from  the  great  division 
of  property  in  the  Revolution,  is  by  far  the  most  nu- 
merous. Not  more  than  fifteen  hundred  landed  pro- 
prietors of  the  kingdom  have  a revenue  abov^e  twelve 
thousand  pounds.  The  king  has  also  his  means  of 
popularity  with  the  poorer  classes;  amongst  which  I 
may  mention  the  Saving  Banks,”  established  on 
the  responsibility  of  the  government;  one  hundred  of 
these  are  in  Paris  alone.  They  not  only  encourage 


STABILITY  OP  THE  GOVERNMENT. 


127 


the  economy,  industry,  and  orderly  habits  of  the  lower 
classes,  but  bind  them  by  the  strongest  of  all  interests 
to  the  government.  For  the  active  support  of  this 
power,  there  is  a national  guard  of  eight  hundred 
thousand  men,  all  proprietors  and  having  interests  to 
hazard  in  a revolution.  There  is  an  immense  regular 
army  of  near  five  hundred  thousand  men,  and  disaf- 
fection in  this  body  would  indeed  be  dangerous;  but 
Avho  is  the  master  spirit,  who  can  hope,  of  a force  so  dis- 
persed, and  with  a continual  change  of  position  and  offi- 
cers, to  concert  a general  plan  of  revolt?  Finally,  the 
chief  learning  and  talent  of  the  nation  is  on  the  side  of 
the  king.  In  his  councils  you  find  such  men  as  Thiers, 
Guizot,  Royer  Collard,  Villemain,  Barrante,  Keratry, 
and  a number  of  others  of  the  same  caste,  who  were 
the  main  instruments  in  setting  up  the  present  govern- 
ment, and  have  of  course  a personal  interest  in  its 
support. 

The  elements  of  the  opposition  are  the  Liberals,  in 
favor  of  a constitutional  monarchy,  with  an  extension 
of  suffrage  and  other  popular  rights:  unwilling  to 
endure  under  the  present  rulers  what  they  resisted 
under  their  predecessors;  secondly  the  Republicans, 
downright  enemies  of  all  sorts  of  monarchy,  and  in 
favor  of  an  elective  government,  as  that  of  the  United 
States.  This  party  is  numerous  but  without  any  con- 
centration of  strength;  and  finally  the  Carlists,  the 
partisans  of  the  ancient  monarchy,  and  its  legitimate 
sovereigns.  These  parties  all  abut  against  each  other, 
and  have  scarce  a common  interest;  and  I do  not  see 
from  what  quarter  any  one  of  them  can  set  up  a rival 
dangerous  to  the  existing  authority. 

The  present  king  has  industry  and  capacity  in  a 


128 


PACIFIC  POLICY  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


high  degree,  and  he  exerts  both  diligently  in  improv- 
ing the  condition  of  the  people.  He  favors  agricul- 
ture, commerce,  and  the  arts  of  peace;  he  thrives  by 
his  own  wit,  as  well  as  by  the  silliness  of  his  prede- 
cessors. New  streets  and  houses  are  rising  up  to 
bless  him  all  over  Paris.  The  nation  was  dragooned 
into  Louis  XVIII  and  Charles  X by  foreign  bayonets; 
Louis  Philippe  is  its  own  choice.  He  took  part  also 
in  the  Revolution,  and  cannot  be  feared  as  the  par- 
tisan of  anti-revolutionary  doctrines;  the  peasants 
need  not  dread  under  his  reign  a restitution  of  the 
spoils  of  the  nobility.  He  is  also  exemplary  in  pri- 
vate life;  he  rises  early  and  sees  after  his  business; 
knocks  up  his  boys  and  packs  them  off  to  school  with 
the  other  urchins  of  the  city,  and  thinks  there  is  no 
royal  way  to  mathematics.  For  his  pacific  policy 
alone  he  deserves  to  go  to  heaven.  It  cannot  be 
doubtful  that  war  is  one  of  the  most  aggravated  mi- 
series that  afflict  our  wretched  human  nature  this  side 
the  grave.  For  the  essential  cause  of  their  revolu- 
tions and  national  calamities  the  French  need  not 
reason  beyond  a simple  statistical  view  of  their  wars  for 
the  last  five  centuries.  They  had  in  this  period  thirty- 
five  years  of  civil,  and  forty  of  religious  wars,  and  of 
foreign  wars  seventy-six  on,  and  one  hundred  and 
seventy-six  off  the  French  territory;  and  their  great 
battles  are  one  hundred  and  eighty-four.  One  does 
not  comprehend  why  the  judgments  of  heaven  should 
not  fall  upon  a nation,  which  consumes  a half  nearly 
of  its  existence  in  carrying  on  oflensive  wars.  And 
moreover  (a  new  virtue  in  a French  king)  Louis 
Philippe  keeps  no  left-handed  wives — no  ‘^Belles 
Feronieres/^  no  Gabrielle  d’Etrees/^  or  Madame 


PRESENT  TONE  OF  FEELING. 


129 


Lavallieres;’^  he  sticks  to  his  rib  of  Sicily,  with  whom 
he  has  nine  children  living  all  in  a fresh  and  vigorous 
health.  Why,  then,  seek  to  kill  a king  recommendable 
by  so  many  excellent  qualities?  Attempts  at  regicide 
are  not  always  proofs  of  disloyalty  in  a nation.  A 
great  number  of  desperate  men,  mostly  the  refuse  of 
the  army,  have  been  turned  loose  upon  the  commu- 
nity, and  these  in  disposing  of  their  own  worthless 
lives,  seek  that  of  the  king  in  order  to  die  gloriously 
upon  the  Place  St.  Jaques.  I have  no  doubt  that  the 
majority  of  the  nation  desire  ardently  his  safety. 
France  has  tried  alternately  the  two  extremes  of  hu- 
man government,  or  rather  misgovernment.  She 
has  rushed  from  an  unlimited  monarchy  to  a crazy 
democracy,  and  back  into  a military  despotism.  She 
has  tilted  the  vessel  on  one  side,  then  run  to  the  other, 
and  at  length  is  taking  her  station  in  the  middle. 
The  general  temper  of  the  public  mind  now  favors  a 
moderate  government,  and  this  is  wisdom  bought  at 
so  dear  a rate  that  it  would  be  underrating  the  com- 
mon sense  of  the  nation  to  suppose  it  will  be  lightly 
regarded. 

Here  is  a copy  of  each  of  the  Paris  newspapers. 
You  will  see  something  of  the  spirit  in  which  they  are 
conducted,  and  one  of  the  chief  engines  by  which  the 
nation  is  governed.  There  is  certainly  no  country  in 
which  a newspaper  has  so  great  an  influence,  and  none 
in  which  the  editor  is  so  considerable  a man  as  in 
Paris. 

The  Constitutionel  opposes  and  defends  all  parties, 
and  is  pleased  and  displeased  with  all  systems  of  go- 
vernment. It  courts  the  favor  of  the  Petite  Bour- 
geoisie,’^ the  shopkeepers,  who  are  always  restless, 


130 


THE  JOURNALS. 


and  displeased,  but  their  interests  require  a quiet  pur- 
suit of  business.  This  is  the  most  gossipping  gazette 
of  them  all,  and  gossips  very  agreeably. 

The  Journal  des  Dehats  represents  the  haute 
Bourgeoisie,^’  the  rich  industrial  classes,  whose  great  in- 
terests are  order  and  security  of  property,  and  the  main- 
tenance of  peace  with  foreign  countries.  The  Par- 
tie  Doctrinaire,”  the  chief  supporters  of  this  paper,  are 
a kind  of  genteel  liberals,  holding  the  balance  between 
confirmed  royalists  and  democrats,  and  ultra  liberals. 
They  have  supported  their  doctrines  with  a great  dis- 
play of  scholastic  learning,  which  has  given  them  their 
appellation  of  Doctrinaires.”  Their  leaders  are 
mostly  from  the  schools,  as  Royer  Collard,  Guizot,  and 
Villemain,  Keratry  and  Barrante.  This  paper  has  a 
leaning  towards  a vigorous  monarchy  and  the  Orleans 
dynasty;  it  is  now  doing  what  it  can  in  its  moderate 
way  to  discredit  the  republicanism  of  the  United 
States. 

The  Gazette  de  France  and  the  Qiiotidieniie  are 
opposed  directly  to  the  present  government,  and  in 
favor  of  the  legitimate  monarchy  in  the  person  of 
Henry  V.  The  former  advocates  royalty  with  extend- 
ed suffrage,  the  increase  of  power  in  the  provinces, 
and  decrease  of  the  influence  of  the  capital;  the  latter 
insists  upon  the  re-establishment,  in  its  fullest  extent, 
of  the  ancient  monarchy. 

The  National  asserts  republicanism  outright,  on  the 
system  of  the  United  States.  It  is  conducted  with 
spirit  and  ability,  at  present  by  M.  Carel.  In  assum- 
ing his  office  he  announced  himself  in  his  address  as 
follows:^^  La  responsibilite  du  National phe  en  eniier 
dls  cejour  sur  ma  seuletete;  si  quelqhins^oublidt  en 


THE  JOURNALS. 


131 


invective  au  sitjef  de  cette  feuille^  it  trouverait  h qiti 
parley','^'*  With  this  the  paper  called  the  “ Tribune/’ 
edited  also  with  ability,  co-operates. 

The  Moniteur  reports  the  speeches  of  the  Cham- 
bers, and  official  documents,  and  is  the  ostensible  organ 
of  the  government.  The  Temps^  the  Courier^  the 
Messager,  and  Journal  du  Commerce  all  advocate 
reform  on  constitutional  principles.  There  are  smaller 
papers  too,  conducted  with  ability.  These,  with  Galig- 
nani,  and  some  other  English  prints,  make  up  the 
newsmongrie  of  Paris.  The  price  of  Galignani,  and 
the  principal  French  papers,  is  twenty  dollars  a year, 
and  their  number  of  regular  subscribers  about  20,000. 
In  Paris  they  are  generally  read  by  the  hour,  and  trans- 
ferred from  one  individual  to  another,  and  disposed  of 
in  the  evening  to  the  public  establishments,  or  sent  off 
to  the  country.  In  this  manner  they  are  read  by  an 
immense  number  of  persons  daily.  The  price  of  ad- 
vertising in  the  best  papers  is  about  thirty  sous  per 
line. 

The  first  men  of  the  nation  are  amongst  the  con- 
stant contributors  to  these  papers,  both  as  correspond- 
ents and  editors.  The  editorial  corps  around  each  dis- 
cuss the  leading  topics,  and  form  a board  to  admit  or 
reject  communications.  These  have  their  daily  meet- 
ings with  the  functionaries  of  the  state,  and  their  cor- 
respondents in  every  foreign  country.  Argus  with  his 
hundred  eyes,  and  Briareus  with  his  hundred  hands, 
preside  over  the  preparation  of  the  daily  meal.  In  our 
country,  where  the  same  man  caters,  cooks  and  does 
the  honors,  it  would  be  unfair  to  make  any  comparison 
of  ability.  There  is  one  point,  however,  in  which 
there  is  no  good  reason  why  we  should  allow  the 


132 


THE  CHAMBER  OF  PEERS. 


French  or  any  other  people  the  superiority.  It  is  the 
decency  of  language  in  which  animated  debates  are 
conducted.  To  be  eloquent,  or  even  vituperative,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  be  abusive,  or  transgress  the  rules  of 
good  breeding;  polish  neither  dulls  the  edge  nor  ener- 
vates the  vigor  of  the  weapon.  The  existence  of 
agencies  between  the  owners  and  readers  of  news- 
papers is  an  immense  gain  to  the  liberty  of  the  press. 
There  can  be  very  little  freedom  of  opinion,  where  the 
editor  and  proprietor,  as  in  the  United  States,  stand  in 
immediate  relation  with  their  patrons. 

In  speaking  of  the  powers  of  the  government,  I 
have  said  nothing  of  the  Chamber  of  Peers.  It  is 
but  a feather  in  either  scale.  It  wants  the  hereditary 
influence,  and  great  estates  necessary  to  command 
popular  respect.  The  title  of  Peer  is  for  life  only, 
and  is  the  reward  of  prescribed  services  in  all  the 
chief  employments  of  the  state.  It  is  a cheap  dignity 
which  pleases  grown  up  children,  and  consists  of  a 
riband  in'the  button-hole.  I have  said  nothing  either 
of  Bonapartism,  which  has  gasped  its  last.  The 
most  violent  enmities  against  the  Emperor  seem  to 
have  burnt  out.  No  danger  is  now  apprehended 
either  from  his  family  or  his  partisans,  and  the  mind 
is  open  to  a full  sense  of  the  glory  he  has  conferred 
upon  the  nation;  and  there  is  mixed  up  with  admi- 
ration of  his  talents  a sentiment  of  affection,  from 
the  recollection  of  his  great  reverses  of  fortune,  and 
his  patient  sufferings.  I have  heard  all  parties  speak 
of  him  with  great  respect  or  praise.  It  is  a good 
policy  of  the  present  government  to  have  taken  into 
favor  all  his  plans  for  the  improvement  of  the  country, 
and  to  have  placed  him  in  his  citizen’s  coat,  and 


GARDEN  OF  PLANTS. 


133 


cocked  hat,  stripped  of  its  military  plumes,  upon  his 
column. 

When  I write  politics  to  ladies,  Apollo  keeps  twitch- 
ing me  all  the  while  by  the  ear;  but  I thought  any  other 
subject  to  day  would  be  impertinent. — Yet  why  should 
ladies  be  ignorant  of  what  enters  so  largely  into  the 
conversation  of  society;  and  makes  so  important  a 
part  of  the  learning  of  their  children? 

I am  meditating  a journey  to  Rome,  and  expect  to 
set  out  next  week  with  a gentleman  of  Kentucky. 
His  Holiness  I presume  will  be  delighted  to  see  some 
one  all  the  way  from  the  Sharp  Mountain.  Direct 
your  letters  as  usual.  Very  tenderly  yours. 


LETTER  VII. 

The  Garden  of  Plants — The  Omnibus — The  Museum  of  Natural 
History — American  Birds — The  Naturalist — Study  of  Entomology 
— The  Botanic  Garden — Cabinet  of  Comparative  Anatomy — The 
Menagerie — The  Giraffe — Notions  of  America — The  Cedar  of  Leba- 
non— Effects  of  French  Cookery — French  Gastronomy — Goose 
Liver  Pie — Mode  of  Procuring  the  Repletion  of  the  Liver. 

Paris,  August  14th,  1835. 

Here  is  an  Englishman  who  has  interrupted  me 
at  the  very  outset  of  this  letter,  and  says  I must  dine 
with  him  at  the  Garden  of  Plants.^’  He  is  a kind 
of  public  informer,  and  does  the  honors  of  Paris  to 
us  raw  Yankees,  just  come  over.  He  has  on  his  left 
arm  a basket  of  provisions,  a couple  of  claret-bottles 
VoL.  I. — 12 


134 


ITS  EXTENT. 


exhibiting  their  slender  necks  over  the  margin  of  the 
basket:  and  on  his  right,  a lady,  his  sister,  who  is  to 
accompany  us.  She  is  exceeding  pretty,  with  a com- 
plexion of  drifted  snow,  and  a rosiness  of  cheeks — 
I have  no  comparison  only  strawberries  and  cream. 
She  is  not  slow  neither,  as  English  women  generally, 
to  show  her  parts  of  speech.  Sir,  it  is  a delightful 
and  romantic  little  spot  as  there  is  in  the  whole  city. 
Onle  two  centuries  ago  it  was  an  open  field,  and  the 
physician  of  Louis  XIII  laid  out  on  it  a Botanic  Gar- 
den; it  now  covers  eighty-four  acres,  partly  with 
wood.  Wood  is  so  delightful  at  this  hot  season!  And 
there  is  now  a botanic  garden  besides  immense  con- 
servatories: also  a splendid  gallery  of  anatomy,  of 
botany,  and  a menagerie;  a library,  too,  of  natural 
history,  and  laboratories,  and  an  amphitheatre,  in 
which  there  are  annually  thirteen  courses  of  lectures. 
And  then  there  is  the  School  of  Drawing  and  Paint- 
ing, of  Natural  History,  all  gratuitous.  We  will  just 
step  into  an  omnibus  on  the  Boulevards,  and  for  six 
sous  we  shall  be  set  down  at  the  very  gate.  Oh,  it 
is  quite  near,  only  two  steps.^’  I resign  myself  to 
the  lady.  The  excursion  will  perhaps  furnish  me, 
what  I have  great  need  of,  a subject  for  this  letter. — 
Parisian  civility  never  allows  one  place  to  be  far 
from  another.  The  French  women,  if  the  place  should 
be  at  any  considerable  distance,  cannot  for  their  little 
souls  tell  you.  It  is  always  ^Hwo  steps,”  and  under 
this  temptation  of  ^Hwo  steps”  you  are  often  induced 
into  a walk  of  several  miles.  If  there  is  any  one 
virtue  in  Paris  more  developed  than  another,  it  is 
that  of  showing  strangers  the  way.  A French  lady 
asked  me  the  way  to-day  on  the  street,  and  though 


PARISIAN  DRIVERS. 


135 


I did  not  know  it,  I ran  all  about  showing  her,  out  of 
gratitude.  The  strangers  who  reside  here  soon  fall, 
by  imitation,  into  the  same  kind  of  civility.  The 
Garden  of  Plants  is  distant  from  my  lodging  about 
three  miles.  Till  to-morrow.  Adieu. 


August  15th. 

The  driver  of  a cab  takes  his  seat  at  the  side  of 
his  customer,  and  is  therefore  very  civil,  amiable, 
talkative,  and  a great  rogue.  The  coachman,  on  the 
contrary,  is  a straight  up,  selfish,  and  sulky  brute, 
who  has  no  complaisance  for  any  one  born  of  a wo- 
man; he  is  not  even  a rogue,  for  being  seated  outside, 
he  has  no  communication  with  the  passengers.  He 
gives  you  back  your  purse  if  you  drop  it  in  his  coach: 
he  is  the  type  of  the  omnibus  driver.  You  have  your 
choice  of  the  Citadine,’’  which  does  not  stop  for 
way  passengers,  but  at  its  stations  at  a half  a mile,  or 
the  omnibus,  which  picks  you  up  any  where  on  the 
way.  It  sets  off  always  at  the  minute,  not  waiting 
for  a load;  and  then  you  have  a correspondence;’^ 
that  is,  you  have  a ticket  from  the  conducteur  at  the 
end  of  one  course,  which  gives  you  a passage  without 
additional  charge  for  the  next.  You  go  all  around 
the  world  for  six  sous.  You  change  your  omnibus 
three  times  from  the  Barriere  du  Trone,  to  the  Bar- 
riere  de  PEtoile,  which  are  at  the  east  and  west  ex- 
tremities of  the  city. 

In  Paris  every  body  rides  in  an  omnibus.  The 
Chamber  of  Peers  rides  in  an  omnibus.  I often  go 
out  in  the  one  the  king,  before  he  got  up  in  the  world, 
used  to  ride  in.  I rode  this  morning  between  a gri- 
sette  with  a bandbox,  and  a knight  with  a decoration. 


136 


PLEASURES  OP  AN  OMNIBUS. 


Some  of  the  pleasantest  evenings  I have  spent  here 
were  in  an  omnibus,  wedged  in  between  the  easy 
embonpoint  of  a healthy  pair  of  Frenchwomen.  If 
you  get  into  melancholy,  an  omnibus  is  the  best  re- 
medy you  can  imagine.  Whether  it  is  the  queer 
shaking  over  the  rough  pavement,  I cannot  say,  but 
you  have  always  an  irresistible  inclination  to  laugh. 
It  is  so  laughable  to  see  your  face  bobbing  into  the 
face  of  somebody  else;  it  is  so  interesting,  too,  to  know 
that  one’s  neighbors  may  be  thinking  about  one;  and 
then  the  strange  people,  and  the  strange  rencontres. 
I often  give  six  sous  just  for  the  comic  effect  of  an 
omnibus.  Precipitate  jolts  against  a neighbor  one 
never  saw,  as  the  ponderous  vehicle  rolls  over  the 
stones,  gives  agitation  to  the  blood  and  brains,  and 
sets  one  a thinking.  And  not  the  least  part  of  the 
amusement  is  the  getting  in,  especially  if  all  the  places 
but  the  back  seat  are  filled.  This  back  seat  is  always 
the  last  to  have  a tenant.  It  is  a circular  board  of 
about  six  inches  in  diameter  at  the  very  farthest  end, 
and  to  reach  it,  you  have  to  run  the  gauntlet  between 
two  rows  of  knees  almost  in  contact; — you  set  out, 
the  omnibus  setting  out  at  the  same  time,  and  you 
get  along  sitting  on  a lady’s  lap,  now  on  this  side, 
and  now  on  that,  until  you  arrive  at  your  destination; 
and  there  you  are  set  up  on  a kind  of  pivot  to  be 
stared  at  by  seventeen  pair  of  black  eyes,  ranged 
along  the  two  sides  of  the  omnibus.  The  only  evil  I 
know  of  these  vehicles  is,  that  the  seat  being  occupied 
by  seven  fat  gentlemen,  it  may  leave  only  six  inches 
of  space  to  a lady  of  two  feet  in  diameter,  so  that  she 
comes  out  compressed  to  such  a degree,  as  to  require  a 
whole  day  of  the  enlarging  and  tightening  capacities 


COLLECTIONS  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY. 


137 


of  Madame  Palmyre,  to  get  her  back  to  her  shapes: 
a worse  evil  is  that  you  often  take  an  interest  in  a 
fellow  traveller,  from  whom  you  are  in  a few  minutes 
to  be  separated,  perhaps  forever! 

We  arrived  at  the  garden  just  time  enough  before 
our  repast  to  expatiate  lightly  upon  its  beauties. 
We  visited  first  the  Museum  of  Natural  History, 
which  occupies  two  stories  of  a building  three  hun- 
dred feet  long.  On  the  first  floor  are  six  rooms  of 
geological  and  mineralogical  collections;  on  the  se- 
cond are  quadrupeds,  birds,  insects,  and  all  the  family 
of  the  apes — two  hundred  specimens — and  groups  of 
crystals,  porphyry,  native  gold  and  silver,  rough  and 
cut  diamonds.  Overlooking  this  whole  animal  crea- 
tion is  a beautiful  statue  of  Venus  Urania — homi- 
niim  divumque  voluptas!  In  one  apartment  is  a 
group  of  six  thousand  birds  in  all  their  gay  and  glit- 
tering plumage;  and  there  are  busts  about  the  room 
in  bronze,  of  Linnaeus,  Fourgroy,  Petit,  Winslow, 
Tournfort,  and  Daubenton.  Our  American  birds  here 
have  all  got  to  be  members  of  the  Academy.  You 
can  know  them  only  by  their  feathers.  There  would 
be  no  objection  to  call  our  noisy  and  stupid  whip- 
poor-will,  caprimulgus  vociferus,^’  but  what  do  you 
think  of  calling  our  plain  and  simple  Carolina  wren 
‘‘  troglodytus  ludovicianus?’’ 

The  insects  have  a room  also  to  themselves,  very 
snug  and  beautiful  in  cases,  and  sparkling  like  gems 
in  all  their  variety  of  vivid  and  fantastic  colors.  We 
met  here  a naturalist,  an  acquaintance,  who  has  lived 
the  chief  part  of  his  life  among  spiders^  legs,  and  he 
explained  to  us  the  properties  of  the  insects.  He 
conversed  upon  their  tenacity  of  life.  He  showed  us 


13S 


A NATURALIST. 


a mite  that  had  lived  three  months  glazed  to  a bit  of 
glass,  and  a beetle  which  had  been  above  three  years 
without  eating,  and  seemed  not  particular  how  long  it 
lived;  a spider  also  which  had  been  kept  one  year  on 
the  same  abstemious  regimen,  and  yet  was  going  on 
living  as  usual.  Are  you  not  ashamed  you  miserable 
mortals,  to  be  outlived  by  a beetle?  He  showed  us 
also  flies  and  spiders  sepulchred  in  amber,  perhaps 
since  the  days  of  Ninus — how  much  better  preserved 
than  the  mummied  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have 
been  handed  down  to  us  from  the  same  antiquity. 
And 


“ Cages  for  gnats  and  chains  to  yoke  a flea, 

Dried  butterflies,  and  tomes  of  casuistry.” 

This  professor  has  been  so  long  in  the  world  of  in- 
sects that  he  has  taken  a distaste  to  big  things.  I baited 
him  with  a whale  and  an  elephant,  but  he  would  not 
bite.  I knew  once  a botanist  in  America,  Avho  had 
turned  entirely  into  a flower,  and  I accompanied  an 
entomologist  of  this  kind  to  the  brow  of  one  of  those 
cliffs,  which  frown  over  the  floods  of  the  Susquehanna, 
where  one  could  not  read  Milton,  and  there  he  turned 
up  rotten  logs  for  grubs  and  snails  for  his  museum. 
It  seems  that  even  the  study  of  nature,  when  confined 
to  its  minute  particles,  does  not  tend  to  enlarge  or  ele- 
vate the  mind.  I have  observed  that  the  practice  even 
of  hunting  little  birds,  or  fishing  for  minnows,  gives 
little  thoughts  and  appetites;  so  to  harpoon  whales, 
chase  deer,  bears,  wolves  and  panthers,  give  a disdain 
of  what  is  trifling,  and  raise  the  mind  to  vast  and  peri- 
lous enterprises.  The  study  of  entomology,  I mean 


BOTANIC  GARDEN. 


139 


the  exclusive  study,  leaves,  I presume,  to  the  artist 
about  as  big  a soul  as  the  beetle, 

“ or  the  wood-louse 

That  folds  itself  in  itself  for  a house.’* 

There  is  a building  apart  also  for  the  Botanic 
Garden.’^  It  has  an  herbal  of  twenty-five  thousand 
species  of  plants.  You  will  see  here  a very  pretty 
collection  of  the  mushrooms  in  wax — it  is  delightful 
to  see  the  whole  family  together.  The  Cabinet  of 

Comparative  Anatomy’^  has  also  separate  lodgings. 
It  contains  skeletons  of  all  animals  compared  with 
man  and  with  one  another,  about  twelve  thousand 
preparations.  It  is  a population  of  anatomies;  it  looks 
like  nature’s  laboratory,  or  like  the  beginnings  of  crea- 
tion, about  the  second  or  third  day.  Here  are  all  the 
races  which  claim  kindred  with  us,  Tartar,  Chinese, 
New  Zealander,  Negro,  Hottentot,  and  several  of  our 
Indian  tribes.  Here  is  a lady  wrapped  in  perpetual 
virginity  and  handed  down  to  us  from  Sesostris  and 
the  mummy  of  somebody’s  majesty,  that  divested  of 
its  wrappings  weighs  eight  pounds,  that  used  to  walk 
about  in  Thebes’s  streets  three  thousand  years  ago.” 
We  descanted  much  upon  this  wonderful  school  of 
nature — upon  the  varieties,  analogies,  and  differences 
of  the  animal  creation.  How  strange  that  the  Chi- 
nese should  wear  their  cues  on  the  top  in  that  Avay,” 
said  the  lady.  How  differently  from  us  Europeans,” 
said  the  gentleman.  ^^Only  look  at  this  dear  little 
fish!”  Sister,  don’t  you  think  it  is  time  to  dine?” 
— And  so  we  left  the  anatomical  preparations  for  this 
more  grateful  preparation,  the  dinner.  The  great 
genius  of  this  place,  the  Baron  Cuvier,  is  defunct.  He 


HO 


THE  MENAGERIE. 


has  now  a place,  for  aught  I know,  among  his  own  col- 
lections. Alas,  the  skeleton  of  a baron!  how  undistin- 
guishable  is  a Cabinet  of  Comparative  Anatomy! 

In  roaming  about  we  examined  superficially  the 
garden;  the  largest  part  of  which  is  occupied  by  the 
menagerie — This  is  not  the  reason  it  is  called  the 
Garden  of  Plants.^^  There  are  seventeen  different 
inclosures,  and  in  e^ch  a committee  of  the  several  races 
of  animals;  in  one  are  the  huge  and  pacific,  as  the 
elephants  and  bisons,  in  another  the  domestic,  as  goats, 
sheep,  and  deer.  The  camels  are  turning  a machine 
to  supply  water — they  who  were  born  to  dispense  with 
this  element.  In  one  you  will  see  the  wild  and  fero- 
cious beasts  and  their  dens;  as  bears,  tigers,  hyenas, 
and  wolves;  and  there  is  a volery  containing  the  vul- 
tures, and  eagles,,  &c.  The  monkeys  are  a beautiful 
family,  about  two  hundred  in  number — their  expres- 
sion such  as  becomes  sisters.  The  remainder  of  the 
garden  also  is  divided  into  various  apartments;  one  is 
a botanic  garden,  with  six  thousand  five  hundred  spe- 
cies of  plants;  another  is  a collection  of  different  soils, 
and  manures;  another  contains  a specimen  of  every 
kind  of  hedge,  fence  or  ditch;  another  every  culinary 
vegetable  used  for  the  food  of  man;  and  another  is  a 
piece  of  water  appropriated  to  aquatic  plants. 

The  whole  establishment  contains  five,  hundred  and 
twenty-six  thousand  species  of  plants,  minerals  and 
animals.  In  the  hot-houses  and  conservatories  are  ten 
thousand  different  species  of  vegetables.  In  the  midst 
of  the  birds  you  see  the  eagle;  of  the  quadrupeds,  his 
shaggy  majesty  the  king  of  the  beasts,  and  I observed 
that  sober  cacique  the  lama  reclining  amongst  his  na- 
tive trees.  The  most  extraordinary  of  these  animals 


THE  GIRAFFE. 


141 


(though  nothing  is  extraordinary  in  Paris  for  a long 
time)  is  the  Giraffe.  On  her  arrival  the  professors  and 
high  dignitaries  of  the  state  went  out  to  meet  her  at 
many  days’  journey  from  the  capital,  and  deputations 
from  all  the  departments.  She  was  attended  by 
grooms  and  footmen,  and  gentlemen  of  the  bed 
chamber,”  from  her  native  country,  and  an  African 
cow  supplied  her  with  African  milk.  An  antelope 
and  three  goats  followed  in  an  open  barouche.  She 
was  formally  invited  to  visit  the  Archbishop  at  his 
country  seat  near  Lyons  but  refused;  whereupon  his 
eminence,  yielding  to  her  claims  of  respect,  went  out 
to  meet  her,  and  was  upset,  his  coach  taking  fright  at 
the  strange  animal,  et  voila  son  aristocratie  par 
terre!  A military  escort  also  proceeded  from  Paris, 
with  members  of  the  Institute  and  other  learned  bodies 
which  met  her  at  Fontainbleau,  and  her  entrance  to 
the  garden  was  a triumphal  procession.  The  curiosity 
of  the  public  had  now  risen  to  its  height  (and  there  is 
no  place  where  it  can  rise  higher  than  in  Paris.)  From 
ten  to  twenty  thousand  persons  poured  into  this  gar- 
den daily.  Phesh  portraits,  by  eminent  artists,  and 
bulletins  of  every  thing  she  did  remarkable,  were 
published  Aveekly.  All  the  bonnets  and  shoes  and 
gloves  and  gowns — every  species  of  apparel  was  made 
a la  giraffe;  quadrilles  were  danced  a la  giraffe.” 
She  has  large  black  eyes  and  pretty  eye-lashes,  and  the 
mouth  is  very  expressive.  In  philosophy  she  is  a 
Pythagorean,  and  eats  maize  and  barley,  and  is  very 
fond  of  roses;  in  religion  she  is  a St.  Simonian.  She 
takes  an  airing  every  morning  in  the  park,  in  fine 
weather,  and  wears  flannel  next  her  skin  in  winter. 

Our  guide  now  mounted  up,  we  following,  by  a 


142 


AMERICAN  RIOTS. 


spiral  walk  to  the  summit  of  a hill,  where  there  is  a fine 
panoramic  view  of  the  city.  In  the  centre  of  the  spire 
is  a little  open  kiosque,  Avhere  Ave  found  seats,  and  a 
girl  entertained  us  Avith  choice  sights  through  a tele- 
scope, at  two  sous  a look.  At  length,  after  several 
little  searches  for  a convenient  place,  Ave  sat  ourselves 
doAvn  underneath  a hospitable  tree,  Avhich,  from  its 
solemn  and  venerable  aspect,  and  from  my  biblical 
recollections  alone,  I knew  to  be  the  cedar  of  Lebanon. 
Here  our  dinner  Avas  spread  upon  the  earth.  At  the 
bottom  of  a hill  is  a dairy,  Avhich  supplied  milk, 
honey,  eggs,  fruit,  and  coffee,  with  the  services  of  the 
dairy  maid;  and,  like  our  great  ancestor,  being  seated 
amidst  creation,  we  partook  Avith  grateful  hearts,  our 
excellent  repast — the  enjoyment  being  enhanced  by 
occasional  conversation. 

How  I should  like  to  pay  a visit  to  your  coun- 
try!’’ 

It  Avould  give  us  great  pleasure,  madam,  if  you 
would  come  over.^^ 

And  I also;  the  truth  is  I have  a hearty  contempt 
for  these  d — d monkey  French  people;  I can’t  tell  why 
I ever  came  amongst  them.” 

Hoav  long  have  you  been  here,  sir?” 

Twenty  years — But  Avhat  terrible  accounts  are 
coming  over  about  your  riots! — why  you  hang  peo- 
ple up  there,  I see,  Avithout  a trial!” 

No;  we  try  them  after  they  are  hung.” 

^^Oh  dear!  I should  never  be  able  to  sleep  quiet  in 
my  bed!” 

The  fact  is  a republic  Avon’t  do.” 

Oh  dear,  no;  Avhy  cousin  writes  us  from  NeAV 
York  that  he  is  coming  back;  and  he  says,  if  things  go 


THE  CEDAR  OF  LEBANON. 


143 


on  so,  Europeans  will  leave  off  emigrating;  that  will 
be  bad,  won’t  it?  (Do  let  me  help  you  to  a little  tongue.) 
But  perhaps  things  will  get  better,  America’s  so  young 
yet;  isn’t  she?  And  then  your  Temperate  Societies 
are  doing  a deal  of  good;  I read  about  them  this 
morning.  I am  very  particular  about  temperance; 
(You  have  nothing  in  your  glass) — and  then  what 
Fanny  Kemble  says  about  the  bugs — ” 

Yes;  and  the  fleas  and  mosquitoes  too;  why  it 
seems  to  me,  yon  can’t  have  need  of  any  other  kind 
of  ^e«-bottomy.” 

Oh  fie,  brother ! — I declare  I like  the  Americans  very 
much;  they  are  so  good-natured. — Only  look  at  that 
dear  little  hen! — Have  you  any  muffled  hens  in  your 
country — any  bantams?” — Thus  a whole  hour  rolled 
by,  unheeded  in  this  delightful  interchange  of  senti- 
ment; and  the  universe  was  created  in  vain,  for.  any 
notice  we  took  of  it,  till  the  end  of  the  dinner.  I now 
turned  up  my  eyes  upon  the  hospitable  branches, 
which  had  afforded  us  protection  during  this  repast. 

The  verdure  of  this  tree  is  perpetual,  and  its  branches 
which  are  fashioned  like  the  goose-quill  are  spread  out 
horizontally  to  cover  an  immense  space.  It  pushes 
them  from  the  trunk  gradually  upwards,  and  their  out- 
ward extremity  is  bent  gently  towards  the  earth,  so 
that  the  shelter  is  complete;  the  rain  running  down  the 
trunk  or  from  the  tip  of  these  branches.  You  would 
easily  know  it  was  intended  as  a shelter  for  some 
chosen  creatures  of  God.  From  its  connection  with 
sacred  history,  its  venerable  appearance,  and  extraor- 
dinary qualities,  it  is  the  most  remarkable  tree  that 
grows  upon  the  earth,  and  there  is  scarce  any  relic  of 
the  Holy  Land  more  sacred.  It  is  sung  by  Isaiah  and 


144 


ORNAMENTAL  GARDENS. 


Solomon;  Justus  Jlorebit  sicut  cedrus  Libaniy — • 
“ The  glory  of  Lebanon,  the  beauty  of  Carmel,  and 
the  abundance  of  Sarron.’^  It  does  not  suffer  the 
presence  of  any  other  tree,  nor  does  the  smallest  blade 
of  grass  presume  to  vegetate  in  its  presence.  It  serv- 
ed to  build  the  splendid  temples  of  David  and  Solo- 
mon, also  Diana’s  Temple  at  Ephesus,  Apollo’s  at 
Utica,  and  the  rich  citizens  of  Babylon  employed  it 
in  the  construction  of  their  private  dwellings.  Its 
wood  is  the  least  corruptible  substance  of  the  vege- 
table world.  In  the  temple  at  Utica,  it  has  been  found 
pure  and  sound,  after  two  thousand  years.  Its  saw- 
dust was  one  of  the  ingredients  used  to  embalm  the 
dead  in  Egypt,  and  an  oil  was  extracted  from  it  for 
the  preservation  of  books.  Its  gum  too  is  a specific 
for  several  diseases. — Since  this  cedar  lives  in  cold 
climates,  as  all  the  cedar  breed,  and  in  unholy  as  well 
as  holy  lands,  why  does  not  some  one  induce  it  to 
come  and  live  amongst  us?  This  one  was  brought  to 
this  garden  by  Jussieu  in  1734. 

It  is  a pity  such  gardens  as  this  are  not  the  growth 
of  republics.  What  an  ornament  to  a city.  At  the 
same  time  what  a sublime  and  pathetic  lesson  of  re- 
ligious and  virtuous  sentiment.  What  more  can  all 
the  records,  and  commentaries,  and  polemics  of  theo- 
logy teach  us  than  this? — My  next  visit  here  shall  be 
alone.  Alone,  I could  have  fancied  myself  a patriarch 
reclining  under  this  tree.  These  camels,  on  their 
tread-mill,  I could  have  turned  into  caravans,  rich  with 
spices  of  Araby;  I could  have  seen  Laban’s  flock  in 
these  buffaloes  of  the  Missouri,  and  Rachel  herself  in 
the  dairy  maid.  If  you  take  a woman  with  you,  you 
must  neglect  the  whole  three  kingdoms  for  her,  and 


A traveller’s  dinner. 


145 


she  will  awake  you  in  your  most  agreeable  dreams; 
whilst  you  are  admiring  the  order  and  beauty  which 
reigns  throughout  creation,  she  will  stick  you  down 
to  a muffled  hen,  or  a johnny-jump-up;  and  while 
you  are  seated  at  the  side  of  Jacob,  or  of  some 
winged  angel,  she  will  make  you  admire  the  gold- 
finches, the  chafflnches,  the  bulfinches”  and  the  green- 
finches” * * * adjourn  from 

the  King’s  Garden”  to  my  aparments  in  the  Rue 
St.  Anne,  where  I must  leave  you,  you  know  how 
reluctantly,  till  to-morrow.  I am  invited  out  by 

Mr.  P , one  of  the  bravest  men  of  the  world 

from  the  Mississippi,  who  is  just  going  home,  and  in  the 
grief  of  separation  has  called  his  friends  around  him 
at  the  Hotel  des  Princes,”  to  dine.  I must  trust  to 
the  events  of  a new  day  to  fill  this  remaining  sheet. 

Rue  St.  Anne,  August  15th. 

I have  not  the  courage  to  describe  our  gorgeous 
banquet;  I have  an  excessive  head-ache.  Though  I 
eat  of  nothing  but  the  soup  and  the  fish,  and  game, 
and  of  the  roasts  and  ragouts  and  side  dishes,  and  then 
the  dessert,  drank  scarcely  any  thing  but  burgundy, 
medoc,  and  champagne,  arid  some  coffee,  and  liqueur, 
yet  I feel  quite  ill  this  morning.  If  one  should  die  of 
the  stomach-ache  by  eating  a gooseberry  pie,  I wonder 
if  it  is  suicide? — However,  if  you  want  to  eat  the  best 
dinners  in  the  world,  I recommend  you  to  the  Hotel 
des  Princes,  and  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  P.  of  the 
Mississippi. 

It  is  very  much  to  be  feared  that  in  cookery,  espe- 
cially the  transcendant  branches,  we  shall  long  remain 
inferior  to  these  refined  French  people.  We  have  no 
Vql.  L— 13 


146 


SCIENCE  OF  FRENCH  COOKERY. 


class  of  persons  who  devote  their  whole  minds  to  the 
art,  and  there  is  nothing  to  bring  talents  out  into  exer- 
cise and  improvement.  If  any  one  does  by  force  of 
nature  get  out  of  the  frying  pan/^  who  is  there  to 
appreciate  his  genius?  He  lives  like  Bacon,  in  advance 
of  his  age,  and  even  runs  the  risk  of  dying  of  hunger 
in  the  midst  of  his  own  dishes.  Besides,  in  America, 
in  cooking,  as  all  things  else,  we  weaken  our  skill  by 
expansion.  The  chief  cook  in  this  “ Hotel  of  the 
Princes,^^  has  spent  a long  life  upon  a single  dish,  and 
by  this  speciality,  has  not  only  ripened  his  talent  into 
perfection,  but  has  brought  a general  reputation  to  the 
house; — as  you  have  seen  persons,  by  practising  a 
single  virtue,  get  up  a name  for  all  the  rest. — The 
English  too  are  mere  dabblers  in  this  science.  A 
French  artist,  to  prepare  and  improve  his  palate,  takes 
physic  every  morning,  whereas  an  Englishman  never 
sees  the  necessity  of  taking  medicine  unless  he  is  sick 

que  lorsqu  Hlest  maladeP^)  and  his  palate  becomes 
indurated.  In  this  country  if  a dish  miss  or  is  under- 
done, do  you  believe  that  the  cook  survives  it?  No, 
he  despises  the  ignominious  boon  of  life  without  repu- 
tation—he  dies! — The  death  of  Vatel  is  certainly  one 
of  the  most  pathetic,  as  well  as  most  heroic  events, 
recorded  in  history.  No  epicure  can  read  it  without 
tears. — Votre  bonte,^^  he  said  to  the  Prince,  who 
sought  to  console  him,  Votre  bont^  77i^acheve!—je 
sais  . ,je  sais  que  le  roti  a manque  a deux  lableP^ 
— He  then  retired  to  his  room! — I cannot  go  on. 
Madame  Sevigne  has  given  a full  account  of  the  tra- 
gical man’s  end. 

I do  not,  however,  approve  of  French  gastronomy 
in  every  thing.  The  cruelty  exercised  upon  the  goose 
is  most  barbarous.  They  recollect  that  a goose  once 


CRUELTY  TO  THE  GOOSE. 


147 


brought  ruin  upon  their  ancestors  in  the  Capitol,  and 
they  have  no  humanity  for  geese  ever  since.  They 
formerly  nailed  the  wretch  by  the  feet  to  a plank, 
then  crammed  it,  and  deprived  it  of  water,  and  ex- 
posed it  to  a hot  fire  (ou  elle  passait  une  vie  assez 
malhexirense)  until  the  liver  became  nearly  as  large 
as  the  goose;  which  being  larded  with  truffles,  and 
covered  with  a broad  paste,  bore  the  name  of  the 
inventor  with  distinction  through  the  whole  earth. 
A Pat^  de  foie  gras^^  used  to  be  a monopoly  of 
diplomatic  dinners,  and  it  is  known  that  a great  na- 
tional Congress  always  assembled  at  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
on  account  of  the  number  of  geese  resident  in  that 
city;  but  they  have  now  spread  every  where,  from 
the  Palais  Royal  to  the  very  cabins  of  the  Alleghany. 
I saw  the  whole  village  of  Pottsville  having  an  indi- 
gestion of  one  that  was  brought  in  there  last  year. 
Pray  do  not  touch  them  unless  with  the  veritable  brand 
upon  the  crust;  some  make  them  of  gum  elastic. 
When  genuine  they  are  wholesome,  they  are  intelli- 
gential;  the  ancients  used  to  say  proverbially,  alieno 
jecore  sapit.  I am  glad  to  see  that  humanity,  in  the 
general  march  of  civilisation,  has  interfered  in  behalf 
of  the  goose.  It  is  noAV  inclosed  immoveably  in  a 
box,  where  it  is  crammed  with  maize  and  poppy  oil, 
and  other  succulent  food,  and  its  eyes  put  out,  so  that 
it  may  give  the  whole  of  its  powers  to  digestion — as 
that  old  Greek  Philosopher,  who  put  out  his  eyes  to  give 
the  whole  mind  to  reflection — and  a dropsical  reple- 
tion of  the  liver  being  produced  by  the  atony  of  the 
absorbents,  the  liver,  (the  only  part  of  a goose  that  is 
now  of  any  account  in  Europe)  is  ready  for  the  mar- 
ket. I received  this  information  over  a slice  of  goose 


148 


THE  VICTIMS  OF  JULY. 


liver  pie  yesterday,  from  our  host,  and  I was  anxious 
to  write  it  down,  while  yet  fresh  in  memory. — A sin- 
gle idea,  you  see,  may  be  inflated,  by  nearly  the  same 
process  as  one  of  these  livers,  and  made  to  cover  a 
whole  page;  I have  room  only  to  say,  I am  entirely 
yours. 


LETTER  VIII. 

Burial  of  the  victims — St.  Cloud — The  Chateau — The  Cicerone — The 
Chevalier  d’ Industrie — Grave  of  Mrs.  Jordan — The  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne— Amusements  on  Fete  Days — Place  Louis  XV. — The  King 
at  the  Tuileries — The  American  Address — His  Majesty’s  Reply — 
The  Princess  Amelia — The  Queen  and  her  Daughters — The  Dukes 
of  Orleans  and  Nemours — Madame  Adelaide — Splendor  of  Ancient 
Courts — Manner  of  governing  the  French — William  the  Fourth — 
Exhibition  of  the  Students  at  the  University. 

Paris,  August  24th,  1835. 

I BELIEVE  I have  not  described  to  you  the  burial 
of  the  victims/^  which  is  no  great  matter,  since  you 
will  see  it  all  in  the  newspapers.  I fell  in,  the  other 
day,  with  an  immense  crowd  passing  in  a long  file 
through  the  door  of  a church,  and  became  one  of  its 
number.  Here  was  a furnace,  or  chambre  ardentCj 
as  they  call  it,  into  which  a concealed  flame  threw  a 
red  and  lurid  light,  and  exhibited  the  corpses  of  those 
who  were  murdered.  From  this  place  they  were 
brought  out,  and  carried  about  the  streets,  in  the  most 
gorgeous  of  all  funeral  processions.  It  would  have 
done  credit  to  the  best  times  of  Babylon.  No  people 


MARSHAL  MORTIER^S  COFFIN.  149 

of  the  world  can  get  up  a theatrical  display  of  this 
kind  so  prettily  as  the  French ; and  on  this  occasion, 
they  outdid  themselves.  The  day  was  appointed,  four 
days  ahead,  when  the  general  grief  was  to  explode, 
and  it  did  explode  exactly  as  the  Prefecture  of  Police 
had  predicted. — We  all  ran  about  the  streets  the 
whole  day,  and  cried,  ‘Mong  live’^  Louis  Philippe, 
and  General  Mortier,  who  was  killed! 

The  Duke’s  coffin  was  carried  in  front,  by  six 
horses,  in  all  the  solemnity  of  crape.  The  spokes  of 
the  wheels  were  silvered,  and  the  rims  glittered  with 
a more  precious  metal.  Over  head  were  flags,  I pre- 
sume, taken  from  the  enemy,  and  groups  of  emble- 
matical figures.  France  with  her  tresses  loose  and 
streaming,  and  the  departments  all  dressed  in  black 
frocks,  mopping  their  eyes,  and  pouring  out  their  little 
souls  over  the  coffin.  The  others  of  the  train,  seven 
or  eight  followed  at  long  intervals,  arrayed  in  nearly 
the  same  style,  more  or  less  elegant,  according  to  the 
dignity  of  the  corpses  carried  in  them.  In  the  midst 
was  a chariot,  as  rich  as  the  others  in  decoration,  and 
forming  a splendid  contrast,  of  dazzling  white,  and 
young  girls  in  raiment  whiter  than  the  snow,  follow- 
ing in  a long  train,  chanted  hymns  to  their  departed 
sister. — This  procession  had  every  thing  but  funeral 
solemnity.  I had  expected  muffled  drums  and  dead 
marches;  and  all,  but  the  bell-clappers,  silent  over  the 
face  of  Paris.  The  music,  on  the  contrary,  was  thril- 
ling and  military;  and  all  the  emblems,  but  the  crape 
and  coffin,  would  have  served  as  well  for  an  elegant 
jubilee.  The  last  scene — the  entrance  into  the  Chapel 
bf  the  Invalids,  and  the  ceremony  there — was  the 
most  solemn.  The  church  was  hung  in  its  blackest 
13^ 


150 


BEAUTY  OF  ST.  CLOUD. 


mourning  weeds,  and  priests,  in  a long  row,  said 
masses  upon  the  dead,  holding  black  torches  in  their 
hands.  The  floor  opened,  and  the  deceased  were 
laid  by  the  side  of  each  other  in  a vault,  which  closed 
its  marble  jaws.  All  Paris  spent  the  day  in  the  pro- 
cession, and  in  the  evening  went  to  the  Opera  Co- 
mique.  But  I don’t  like  funerals:  I will  write  of 
something  else. 

I will  tell  you  of  my  first  excursion  to  the  country. 
Every  one  who  loves  eating  and  drinking  and  dancing, 
went  out  yesterday  to  the  fete  at  St.  Cloud — c^est  si 
jolieunefete  de  village!  I went  along.  The  situ- 
ation of  this  village  is  very  picturesque  on  the  banks 
of  the  Seine,  and  commands  a delightful  prospect  of 
the  city  and  environs  of  Paris.  If  St.  Cloud  would 
not  take  it  ill,  I should  like  to  stay  here  a month. — 
There  are  the  sweetest  little  hills,  and  glades,  and  cas- 
cades imaginable;  not,  indeed,  beautiful  and  poetical 
as  your  wild  and  native  scenery  of  Pottsville — one 
does  not  wander  by  the  mountain  torrent,  or  by  the 
clear  stream,  such  as  gushes  from  the  flanks  of  your 
craggy  hills;  nor  by  the  Tumbling  Run”  that  winds 
its  course  through  the  intricate  valley  till  it  mingles, 
and  murmurs  no  more,  in  the  wizard  Schuylkill;  nor 
does  one  stray  through  forests  of  fragrant  honey- 
suckles, or  gather  the  wild  flower  from  the  solitary 
rock;  but  it  is  sweet,  also,  to  see  the  little  fishes  cut 
with  their  golden  oars  the  silvery  lake,  and  to  walk 
upon  the  fresh-mown  turf,  and  scent  the  odor  from  the 
neighboring  hedge;  the  rose  and  woodbine,  too,  are 
sweet,  when  nourished  by  the  agricultural  ingenuity 
and  care  of  man.  All  that  kind  of  beauty,  which  the 
fertile  earth  can  receive  from  the  hand  of  a skilful  cul- 


FAVORED  RETREAT  OF  BONAPARTE. 


151 


tivator,  is  possessed  by  these  little  hills  of  St.  Cloud, 
in  its  most  adorable  perfection.  I have  listened  here 
to  the  music  of  the  bees,  and  in  the  calm  and  balmy 
evening  to  the  last  serenade  of  the  thrush  retiring  to 
its  rest.  One  forgets,  in  hearing  this  language  of  his 
native  country,  that  he  is  wandering  in  a foreign  land ! 
St.  Cloud  has,  also,  an  interest  in  its  historical  recollec- 
tions. It  was  burnt  once  by  the  English;  it  was  be- 
sieged and  taken  by  Conde,  in  the  religious  wars;  and 
Henry  III  AA^^as  assassinated  here,  by  Jacques  Clement. 
It  was  the  favorite  of  Bonaparte.  If  he  resided  any 
where,  (for  ambition  has  no  home,)  it  was  at  St  Cloud. 
It  was  here  he  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  govern- 
ment, overthrowing  the  Directory,  in  1799. — The 
neighborhood  is  adorned  Avith  magnificent  villas.  The 
French  do  not,  like  the  English,  plunge  from  the  bus- 
tle and  animation  of  their  city  into  a lifeless  solitude;  or 
carry  a multitude  of  guests  with  them  to  their  country 
seats,  to  eat  them  out  of  house  and  home,  as  an  anti- 
dote to  the  vapors.  They  select  the  vicinity  of  some 
frequented  spot,  as  St.  Cloud  or  Versailles,  and  secure 
the  pleasures  of  society  to  their  summer  residences.  I 
believe  it  is  well  for  one,  who  wishes  to  make  the  best 
of  life  in  all  its  circumstances,  to  study  the  French.  I 
am  glad  that  in  imitating  England  in  many  things,  (as 
Ave  ought,  Ave  have  no^  copied  her  absurd  Avhirn  of 
living  in  the  country  at  Christmas. 

The  Chateau  at  St.  Cloud  is  an  irregular  building; 
it  has  on  its  principal  front  four  Corinthian  columns, 
and  Justice  and  Prudence  and  a naked  Truth,  and 
some  other  hieroglyphic  ladies  are  looking  down  from 
the  balustrade.  I had  myself  conducted  through  its 
apartments:  the  salU  de  compagnie — audience — de 


152 


THE  CHATEAU. 


toilet^  and  the  Queen’s  bed-chamber.  Only  to  think, 
here  she  used  to  sleep,  the  little  queeny ! They  have 
made  her  bed  just  two  feet  high,  lest  she  might  fall  out 
and  break  her  majesty’s  neck  in  the  night.  The 
King’s  apartments  are  in  a similar  range.  The  salon 
de  Diane  is  fine  with  the  tapestry  of  the  gobelins,  and 
the  grand  salon  with  Sevres’  China  vases.  Its  crim- 
son velvet  hangings  cost  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and 
its  four  candelabra  six  thousand.  The  galerie  rf’ 
Apollon  has  paintings  by  the  best  masters.  I admired  all 
these  things  excessively.  Every  one  knows  the  gene- 
alogy of  admiration.  They  certainly  exceed  ver^^-  far 
our  usual  republican  notions  of  magnificence. — Thou 
most  unclassical  Blucher!  Why  the  fellow  slept  here, 
booted  and  spurred,  in  the  Emperor’s  bed,  and  kennel- 
led his  hounds  upon  the  sofa — both  with  an  equal 
sense,  I presume,  of  the  sumptuousness  of  their  lodg- 
ings. If,  at  least,  he  had  put  his  hounds  into  Diana’s 
saloon,  the  stupid  Goth,  he  might  have  had  some 
credit  for  his  wit — he  can  have  none  for  his  brutality. 

I was  puzzled  about  the  reward  to  be  given  to  our 
Cicerone.  To  have  all  this  service  for  nothing  was 
unreasonable;  and  how  to  offer  money  to  a man  with 
a cocked  hat,  and  black  velvet  breeches. — I was  in  a 
situation  exactly  the  reverse  of  Alexander  the  Great 
towards  his  schoolmaster.  What  was  enough  for  such 
a respectable  gentleman  to  receive,  was  too  much  for 
me  to  give.  I consulted  a French  lady;  for  French 
ladies  know  every  thing,  and  they  don’t  knock  you 
down  when  you  ask  them  a question. — She  told  me  a 
franc  would  be  as  much  as  he  would  expect.  Think 
of  giving  a franc  for  an  hour’s  service,  to  as  good  a 
looking  gentleman  as  General  Washington! 


THE  CHEVALIER  d’iNDUSTRIE. 


153 


Coming  out  from  the  castle,  I wandered  through  the 
Park,  which  contains  some  hundred  acres,  diversified 
with  hills  and  valleys,  and  presenting  from  an  emi- 
nence, a delightful  view  of  the  surrounding  country, 
including  Paris.  On  this  spot  is  a Lantern  of  Demos- 
thenes,^^ copied  from  the  monument  of  that  name  at 
Athens.  A great  part  of  the  park  is  a public  prome- 
nade, and  is  chiefly  remarkable  for  its  jets  d’eaux,  which 
on  a fete  day  throw  up  the  water  sportively  in  the 
air,  and  for  its  numerous  cascades,  one  of  which  is  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
basin. ^ I next  went  with  a guide  into  the  Petit 
Parc,^^  made  for  Marie  Antoinette.  She  bought  this 
chateau  (one  of  her  sins)  just  before  the  Revolution. 
This  park  is  beautiful  with  bowers,  groves,  pieces  of 
water,  statuary,  and  every  imaginable  embellishment. 
In  wandering  about  here,  I got  acquainted  with  a 
nobleman.  He  is  of  that  order  of  knighthood,  which 
the  French  call  Chevaliers  d’lndustrie.’^ — This,  sir, 
I think  is  by  Pigale,  and  this  Cupid  by  Depautre. 
Look  especially  at  this  Venus  by  Coustan.’^ — Point 
du  tout^  Monsieur^  I make  it  a duty  as  you  are  a 
stranger.’^  He  liked  the  Americans  excessively. — 
To  be  the  countryman  of  Franklin,  c^est  un  titreP^ 
I seldom  ever  met  a more  polite  and  accomplished 
gentleman,  and  fashionable.  I had  a purse  contain- 
ing in  silver  twenty  francs,  which,  being  incommo- 
dious to  a waistcoat,  I had  put  into  an  outside  coat 
pocket. — Late  in  the  evening,  you  might  have  seen  me 
returning  homewards  on  foot,  (the  distance  two 
leagues,)  not  having  wherewith  to  hire  a coach,  and 
no  money  at  my  lodgings.  If  the  devil  had  not  been 


154 


MRS.  JORDAN. 


invented  I should  have  found  him  out  on  this  occa- 
sion. 

The  verdure  of  this  country  is  more  fresh  than  ours 
under  the  dog  star.  There  is  a hazy  atmosphere, 
which  intercepts  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  mitigates  the 
heat.  I don’t  say  a word  here  in  favor  of  our  sum- 
mer climate  from  conscientious  scruples.  Indeed  I 
have  gained  such  a victory  over  my  patriotism  that  I 
never  find  fault  with  these  foreigners  for  having  any 
thing  better  than  we  have  it  ourselves;  nor  do  I take 
any  merit  to  myself  because  the  Mississippi  is  two 
miles  wide,  or  because  the  Niagara  falls  with  such 
sublimity  into  Lake  Ontario. 

I was  introduced  by  a mere  accident  to  a Scotch 
lady  of  this  village,  who  prevailed  on  my  modesty  to 
dine  with  her.  She  is  a lady  of  experience  and  great 
affability,  who  has  resided  here  and  in  Paris  eleven 
years.  She  is  on  a furlough  from  her  husband,  an 
Englishman.  She  showed  me  the  cathedral,  the  ceme- 
tery, and  the  grave  of  one,  who  won  princes  by  her 
smile,  Mrs.  Jordan.  She  asks  a repetition  of  the  visit, 
and  is  too  amiable  and  accomplished  to  be  refused. 
She  is  at  least  forty-five;  in  the  ambush  of  her  young- 
er days”  the  invitation  would  not  have  been  safe  for 
the  visiter. 

On  my  return  I walked  through  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, where  you  and  romantic  Mary  have  so  often 
assisted  at  a duel.  It  was  in  the  glimmerings  of  the 
twilight,  and  now  and  then  looking  through  a vista 
of  the  tangled  forest  I could  see  distinctly  a ghost  pull- 
ing a trigger  at  another  ghost,  or  pushirig  carle  and 
tierce  at  his  ribs.  This  forest  ffanks  the  west  side  of 
the  Faubourgs  of  Paris,  and  contains  seventeen  him- 


GIRLS  LEARNING  TO  RIDE. 


155 


died  acres  of  ground;  in  some  parts  an  open  wood,  in 
others  an  intricate  and  impenetrable  thicket.  It  is  the 
fashionable  drive  for  those  who  have  coaches  in  the 
morning,  and  a solitary  enough  walk  for  one,  who  has 
no  coach  of  an  evening.  Young  girls  always  find  sad- 
dled at  the  east  end  a number  of  donkeys,  upon  which 
they  take  a wholesome  exercise,  and  acquire  the  ele- 
ments of  equitation  at  three  sous  a ride.  Some  who 
have  witched  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship,’^ 
have  begun  upon  these  little  asses. 

I had  the  light  only  of  the  gentle  moonbeam  to  di- 
rect my  footsteps  through  the  latter  part  of  this  forest; 
and  I walked  speedily,  recollecting  I should  not  be  the 
first  man  who  was  murdered  here,  by  a great  many. 
I feared  to  meet  some  rogue  ignorant  that  I was  rob- 
bed already,  so  I went  whistling  along,  (for  men  who 
have  money  don’t  whistle,)  till  I arrived  at  the  Champs 
Elysees — its  lamps  sparkling  like  the  starry  firmament. 
An  hour  sooner  I should  have  found  it  alive  with  all 
sorts  of  equipages;  with  all  the  landaus,  tilburys,  and 
bogueys,  and  other  private  vehicles,  and  footmen  glit- 
tering in  golden  coats,  with  feathers  waving  on  their 
empty  heads,  whilst  the  edges  of  the  road  would  have 
been  fringed  with  ten  thousand  pedestrians  on  their 
evening  walks.  Now  there  were  a few  only  in  at- 
tendance upon  Franconi’s  or  the  concert.  In  the  for- 
mer of  these  places  they  exhibit  melodramas,  and 
equestrian  feats,  in  which  the  riding  ladies  only  out- 
strip what  we  see  in  our  own  country.  In  the  latter 
there  is  a band  of  near  a hundred  musicians,  who 
charm  all  the  world  at  twenty  sous  a piece,  playing 
the  fashionable  airs  from  six  till  nine  every  evening. 


156 


THE  CHAMPS  ELYSEES. 


Innumerable  cafes  around  pour  out  the  fragrant  nectar 
to  their  guests. 

For  an  image  of  this  place  you  need  not  read  Vir- 
gil’s sixth  book,  or  refer  to  any  of  your  classical  asso- 
ciations. Fancy  only,  without  a single  inequality,  a 
horizontal  plain  of  an  hundred  or  more  acres,  or  ra- 
ther a barren  moor,  a ball-alley,  a baked  and  turfiess 
common,  or  any  most  trodden  spot  upon  the  earth 
and  that  is  the  French  Elysium.  Not  a blade  of  grass, 
or  shrub  or  flower  dares  grow  upon  its  surface.  The 
trees  are  straining  and  trying  to  grow  but  cannot.  Yet 
it  is  precisely  to  this  barren  field  that  all  the  world 
comes,  especially  on  fete  days,  to  be  perfectly  delighted. 
It  is  surrounded  by  the  city  and  has  an  air  of  country 
in  town.  It  is  a kind  of  republican  turn-out,  where 
one  may  go  as  one  pleases,  without  toilet  or  any  trou- 
blesome respect  to  etiquette.  It  is  a refuge  always  at 
hand  from  an  uncomfortable  home — from  a scold  or 
a creditor;  it  cures  husbands  of  their  wives,  old  bache- 
lors of  the  vapors,  and  sometimes  lovers  of  their  sweet- 
hearts. On  Sundays  and  holidays  you  will  find  here, 
of  foolishness,  all  that  you  have  ever  seen,  all  that  you 
have  ever  fancied,  and  if  there  is  any  thing  of  this 
kind  you  have  never  seen  or  fancied,  it  is  here.  Be- 
sides the  concert  and  the  circus,  and  fresco  dances,  here 
are  all  the  jugglers  and  their  tricks,  mountebanks  and 
their  medicines,  clowns  and  their  fooleries,  all  the  fami- 
ly of  the  punches,  and  all  the  apes  in  regimentals;  not 
counting  the  voltigeurs  without  legs,  and  the  blind 
girls,  who  see  to  walk  over  eggs  without  breaking 
them.  You  may  have  a stage  if  you  love  to  play 
harlequin,  or  a greasy  pole  if  you  wish  to  climb  for  a 
prize  at  the  top  of  it.  You  may  sit  down  on  a swing 


BEGGARS. 


157 


like  a water  wheel,  which  will  toss  you  fifty  feet  in 
the  air,  where  you  may  run  from  yourself  and  after 
yourself  by  the  hour;  or  on  another  which  will  whirl 
you  about  horizontally  on  hobby  horses  till  you  be- 
come invisible.  If  thirsty  you  may  have  an  ice  cream, 
if  studious  a chair  and  a newspaper,  and  if  nervous  a 
shock  of  electricity  worth  two  sous.  Moreover  you 
can  buy  cakes  reeking  hot  that  were  baked  a week 
ago,  and  a stick  of  barley  sugar,  only  a little  sucked 
by  the  woman’s  baby,  at  half  its  value. 

On  the  outskirts  towards  night  you  may  find  also  an 
opportunity  of  exercising  your  charity  and  other  bene- 
volent affections.  One  poor  woman  is  getting  a living 
here  by  the  dropsy,  and  another  by  nine  orphan  chil- 
dren and  such  like  advantages;  one  has  lost  the  use  of 
her  limbs  and  is  running  about  with  a certificate;  and 
there  is  one,  who  has  been  eight  months  gone  since 
eleven  years.  In  coming  out  by  the  side  next  the  city 
you  are  at  once  upon  the  Place  Louis  XV,  where  you 
will  see  on  their  pedestals  two  superb  and  restive 
coursers,  which  tread  on  air  held  in  with  difficulty  by 
their  two  marble  grooms.  We  are  again  upon  St. 
Anne’s  street,  and  under  the  protection  of  her  sainted 
wings  I repose  till  to-morrow,  bidding  you  an  affec- 
tionate good  night. 


August  25th. 

I called  a few  days  ago  upon  the  king.  We  Yan- 
kees went  to  congratulate  his  Majesty  for  not  being 
killed  on  the  28th.  We  were  overwhelmed  with  sym- 
pathy— and  the  staircase  which  leads  up  to  the  royal 
apartments,  is  very  beautiful,  and  has  two  Ionic  co- 
lumns just  on  the  summit.  You  first  enter  through  a 
VoL.  I. -14 


153 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  KING. 


room  of  white  and  plain  ground,  then  through  a second 
hung  round  with  awful  field  marshals,  and  then  you 
go  through  a room  very  large,  and  splendid  with  lus- 
tres, and  other  elegant  furniture,  which  conducts  into 
a fourth  with  a throne  and  velvet  canopy.  The  king 
was  very  grateful,  at  least  he  made  a great  many 
bows,  and  we  too  were  very  grateful  to  Providence  for 
more  than  a couple  of  hours. — There  was  the  queen, 
and  the  two  little  princesses — but  I will  write  this  so 
that  by  embroidering  it  a ]\:de  you  may  put  it  in  the 
newspapers. 

The  chamber  of  Peers  and  Deputies  and  other  func- 
tionaries of  the  State  were  pouring  in  to  place  at  the 
foot  of  the  throne,  the  expression  of  their  loyalty. 
This  killing  of  the  king  has  turned  out  very  much  to 
his  advantage.  There  was  nothing  any  where  but 
laudatory  speeches,  and  protestations  of  affection — 
foreigners  from  all  the  countries  of  Europe  uniting  in 
sympathy  with  the  natives.  So  we  got  ashamed  of 
ourselves,  we  Americans,  and  held  a meeting  in  the 
Rue  Rivoli,  where  we  got  up  a procession  too,  and 
waited  upon  his  Majesty  for  the  purpose  above  stated, 
and  were  received  into  the  presence — the  royal  family 
being  ranged  around  the  room  to  get  a sight  of  us. 
Modesty  forbids  me  to  speak  of  the  very  eloquent  man- 
ner in  which  we  pronounced  our  address;  to  which  the 
king  made  a very  appropriate  reply.  Gentlemen, 
you  can  better  said  he,  than  I can  express  to  you 

the  gratification,’’ &c.— I missed  all  the  rest  by  looking 
at  the  Princess  Caroline’s  most  beautiful  of  all  faces,  ex- 
cept the  conclusion,  which  was  as  follows:  And  I am 
happy  to  embrace  this  occasion  of  expressing  to  you  all, 
and  through  you,  to  your  countrymen,  the  deep  grati- 


THE  AMERICAN  CONSUL. 


159 


tude  I have  ever  felt  for  the  kindness  and  hospitality  I 
experienced  in  America,  during  my  misfortunes.’^ 
The  king  spoke  in  English,  and  with  an  affectionate, 
and  animated  expression,  and  we  were  pleased  all  to 
pieces.  So  was  Louis  Philippe,  and  so  was  Marie 
Amelie^  princess  of  the  two  Sicilies,  his  wife;  and  so 
was  Marie-Christine-Caroline-jidelaide-Francoise- 
Leopoldine,  and  Marie-Clementine-Carolinc- Leopold 
dine-Clolildey  her  two  daughters,  and  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

A note  from  the  king’s  aid-de-camp  required  the 
presence  of  our  consul  at  the  head  of  the  deputation, 
which  our  consul  refused.  He  did  not  choose,  he  said, 
to  see  the  Republic  make  a fool  of  herself,  running 
about  town,  and  tossing  up  her  cap  because  the  king 
was  not  killed,  and  he  would  not  go.  Then”  said 
the  king  (a  demur  being  made  by  his  officers,)  I 
will  receive  the  Americans,  as  they  received  me,  with- 
out fuss  or  ceremony.  So  we  got  in  without  any  head 
but  not  without  a long  attendance  in  the  antij-chamber, 
very  inconvenient  to  our  legs.  How  we  strolled  about 
during  this  time,  looking  over  the  nick-nacks,  and  how 
some  of  us  took  out  our  handkerchiefs,  and  knocked  the 
dust  off  our  boots  in  the  salle  des  mareschaux^  and 
how  we  reclined  upon  the  royal  cushions,  and  set  one 
leg  to  ride  impatiently  on  the  other,  I leave  to  be  de- 
scribed by  Major  Downing,  who  was  one  of  our 
party.  I will  bring  up  the  rear  of  this  paragraph  with 
an  anecdote,  which  will  make  you  laugh.  One  of  our 
deputation  had  brought  along  a chubby  little  son  of 
his,  about  sixteen.  He  returned,  (for  he  had  gone 
ahead  to  explore,)  and  said  in  a soft  voice;  Tommy, 
you  can  go  in  to  the  Throne,  but  don’t  go  too  near,” 


160 


DESCRIPTION  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPPE. 


And  then  Tommy  set  off  with  velvet  steps,  and  ap- 
proached, as  you  have  seen  timid  old  ladies  to  a blun- 
derbuss;— he  feared  it  might  go  off. 

The  king  is  a bluff  old  man  with  more  firmness  of 
character,  sense  and  activity,  than  is  indicated  by  his 
plump  and  rubicund  features.  The  queen  has  a very 
unexceptionable  face:  her  features  are  prominent,  and 
have  a sensible,  benevolent  expression — a face  not  of 
the  French  cut,  but  such  as  you  often  meet  amongst 
the  best  New  England  faces.  Any  gentleman  would 
like  to  have  such  a woman  for  his  mother.  The  eldest 
daughter  is  married  to  the  king  of  Belgium;  the  second 
and  third  are  grown  up  to  manhood^  but  not  yet  mar- 
ried. They  would  be  thought  pretty  girls  even  by 
your  village  beaux,  and  with  you  ladies,  except  two 
or  three  (how  many  are  you?)  they  would  be  stuck 
up  things,  no  prettier  than  their  neighbors.^^  The 
Duke  of  Orleans  is  a handsome  young  man,  and  so 
spare  and  delicate  as  almost  to  call  into  question  his 
mother^s  reputation.  He  assumes  more  dignity  of 
manner  than  is  natural  to  a Frenchman  at  his  age;  he 
is  not  awkward,  but  a little  stiff;  his  smile  seems  com- 
pulsory and  more  akin  to  the  lips  than  the  heart.  Any 
body  else  would  have  laughed  out  on  this  occasion.  He 
has  been  with  the  army  in  Africa,  and  has  returned 
moderately  covered  with  laurels.  The  Duke  of 
Nemours  is  just  struggling  into  manhood,  and  is  shav- 
ing to  get  a beard  as  assiduously  as  his  father  to  get 
rid  of  it.  He  also  has  fought  valiantly  somewhere — 
I believe  in  Holland.  Among  the  ladies  there  is  one 
who  pleases  me  exceedingly;  it  is  Madame  Adelaide, 
the  king’s  sister.  She  has  little  beauty,  but  a most 
affable  and  happy  expression  of  countenance.  She 


ANCIENT  REGAL  SPLENDOR. 


161 


was  a pupil  of  Madame  Gerilis,  who  used  to  call  her 
‘‘cette  belle  et  bonne  Princesse,^^  She  was  married 
secretly  to  General  Athelin,  her  brother’s  secretary^dur- 
ing  their  residence  in  England.  She  revealed  this  mar- 
riage, with  great  fear  of  his  displeasure,  to  her  brother, 
after  his  accession  to  the  throne,  throwing  herself  on 
her  knees. — After  some  pause  he  said,  embracing  her 
tenderly. — Domestic  happiness  is  the  main  thing 
after  all;  and  now  that  he  is  the  king’s  brother-in-law 
we  must  make  him  a duke.”  Madame  Adelaide  is 
in  the  Indian  summer  of  her  charms. 

One  who  knows  royalty  only  from  the  old  books, 
necessarily  looks  about  for  that  motley  gentleman, 
the  king’s  fool.  The  city  of  Troyes  used  to  have  a 
monopoly  of  supplying  this  article,  but  the  other 
towns,  I have  heard,  grew  jealous  of  the  privilege, 
and  they  have  them  now  from  all  parts  of  the  king- 
dom. Seriously  the  splendor  of  ancient  courts  has 
faded  away  wonderfully  in  every  respect.  When 
Sully  went  to  England,  says  the  history,  he  was  at- 
tended by  two  hundred  gentlemen,  and  three  hun- 
dred guns  saluted  him  at  the  Tower.  The  pomp 
and  luxury  of  drawing  rooms,  and  levees,  were  then 
most  gorgeous.  The  eye  was  dazzled  with  the  glit- 
tering display,  nothing  but  yeomen  of  the  guards 
with  halberts,  and  wearing  hats  of  rich  velvet,  plumed 
like  the  peacock,  with  wreaths  and  rosettes  in  their 
shoes;  and  functionaries  of  the  law,  in  black  gowns, 
and  full  wigs,  and  bishops,  and  other  church  digni- 
taries, in  aprons  of  black  silk;  and  there  were  knights 
of  the  garter,  the  lord  steward,  the  lord  chancellor, 
and  the  Lord  knows  who.  And  the  same  grandeur 
and  brilliancy  in  the  French  courts— chambellans, 
14* 


162 


POLICY  OF  LOUIS  PHILIPPF. 


and  ecuyers,  and  aumoniers,  all  the  way  down  to 
the  chauf-cire,  and  keeper  of  the  royal  hounds;  and 
one  swam  in  a sea  of  gems  and  plumes,  and  sweet 
and  honied  ladies.  Republicanism  has  set  her  irreve- 
rent foot  upon  all  this  regal  splendor.  I wish  I had 
come  over  a hundred  years  ago.  The  king’s  salary 
before  the  Revolution,  though  provisions  were  at  half 
their  present  rate,  was  thirty  millions,  that  of  Charles 
X was  twenty-five;  and  the  present  king’s  is  only 
twelve  millions,  with  one  million  to  the  Duke  of 
Orleans. 

/and  Louis  Philippe  do  not  agree  altogether  about 
the  manner  in  which  the  French  people  ought  to  be 
governed.  The  censorship  of  the  pres,  the  espionage, 
the  violation  of  private  correspondence,  the  jail  and 
the  gibbet,  will  not  arrest  the  hand  of  the  regicide. 
I have  read  in  a journal  to  day,  that  2746  persons 
have  already  been  imprisoned  for  having  censured 
the  acts  of  the  present  government,  in  the  person  of  the 
king.  The  devil  will  get  his  Most  Christian  Majesty 
if  he  goes  on  at  this  rate.  Why  don’t  he  learn  that 
the  strength  of  kings  in  these  days,  is  in  their  weak- 
ness? Why  don’t  he  set  up  Mr.  Thiers,  and  then  Mr. 
Guizot,  and  then  Mr.  Thiers  again,  as  they  do  in  Eng- 
land? Look  at  King  William — does  any  body  shoot 
him?  and  yet  he  rides  out  with  four  cream-colored 
horses,  with  blue  eyes,  every  day,  and  sometimes 
he  walks  into  the  Hungerford  Market,  and  asks  the 
price  of  shrimps.  Louis  plays  a principal  part  in  all 
his  measures,  even  his  high-handed  measures.  If  he 
makes  himself  a target,  he  must  expect  to  be  shot  at. 
In  the  beginning  of  his  reign,  he  played  the  liberal  too 
loosely.  Why  talk  of  censorship?”  said  he  — il  n^y 


REPUBLICAN  INSTITUTIONS. 


163 


aura  plus  de  delits  de  lapresse.'^^ — I am  but  a bridge 
to  arrive  at  the  Republic.^^  With  his  present  acts,  this 
language  is  in  almost  ludicrous  contrast.  He  is  a Jacobin 
turned  king,  say  his  enemies;  and  we  must  expect  he 
will  run  the  career  of  all  renegades.  I have  not  described 
his  disasters  and  dangers  in  a lamentable  tone,  be- 
cause I don’t  choose  to  affect  a sympathy  I do  not  feel. 
He  had  a quiet  and  delightful  habitation  at  Neuilly; 
and  since  he  has  not  preferred  it  to  this  bare  picket 
bone  of  majesty”  at  the  Tiiileries,  let  him  abide  the 
consequences.  However,  I shall  be  one  of  those 
who  will  deplore  his  loss,  from  the  good  will  I bear 
the  French  people,  for  I have  not  the  least  doubt 
that,  with  twenty  years’  possession  of  the  throne,  he 
will  bring  them,  in  all  that  constitutes  real  comfort 
and  rational  liberty,  to  a degree  of  prosperity  un- 
known to  their  history. — Remember  I am  talking 
French,  not  American  politics.  To  infer  from  the 
example  of  America,  that  the  institutions  of  a Re- 
public may  be  introduced  into  these  old  govermenis 
of  Europe,  requires  yet  the  experiment”  of  another 
century.  If  we  can  retain  our  democracy  wlien  our 
back  woodlands  are  filled  up,  when  New  York  and 
Philadelphia  have  become  a London  and  Paris;  when 
the  land  shall  be  covered  with  its  multitudes,  strug- 
gling for  a scanty  living,  with  passions  excited  by 
luxurious  habits  and  appetites. — If  we  can  then  main- 
tain our  universal  suffrage,  and  our  liberty,  it  will  be 
fair  and  reasonable  enough  in  us  to  set  ourselves  up  for 
the  imitation  of  others.  Liberty,  as  far  as  we  yet 
know  her,  is  not  fitted  to  the  condition  of  these  popu- 
lous and  luxurious  countries.  Her  household  gods 


164 


UNIVERSITY  EXHIBITIONS. 


are  of  clay,  and  her  dwelling  where  the  icy  gales 
of  Alleghany  sing  through  the  crevices  of  her  hut. 

I have  spent  a day  at  the  exhibition  of  the  students 
of  the  University,  which  was  conducted  with  great 
pomp.  There  was  a concovr  for  prizes,  and  speeches 
in  the  learned  languages — nothing  but  clarissi mi  and 
eruditissimi  Thiers  and  Guizots.  DonT  you  love 
modern  Latin?  I read,  the  other  day,  an  ode  to  Han- 
nse  Morse  and  I intend  to  write  one,  some  of  these 
days,  to  Miss  Kittoe,  and  Nellse,  of  Pine  Hill.  Apro- 
pos— what  of  the  Girard  College?  when  are  they  to 
choose  the  professors?  and  who  are  the  trustees?  I 
must  be  recommended  ioKSi  avO^OTtovcSc  fisyaT^oidv,  Good 
night. 


LETTER  IX. 


Tour  of  Paris — The  Seine— The  Garden  of  Plants — The  Animals — 
Island  of  St.  Louis — The  Halle  aux  Vins — The  Police — Palais  de 
Justice — The  Morgue — Number  of suicides — ^M.  Perrin — The  Hotel 
de  Ville — Place  de  Greve — The  Pont  Neuf — Quai  des  Augustins — 
The  Institute — Isabeau  de  Baviere — The  Bains  Vigiers — The  Pont 
des  Arts — The  Washerwomen’s  Fete — Swimming-schools  for  both 
sexes — The  Chamber  of  Deputies — Place  de  la  Revolution — Obe- 
lisk of  Luxor — Hospital  of  the  Invalids — Ecolc  Militaire — The 
Champ  de  Mars — Talleyrand. 


September  14th,  1835. 

After  the  nonsense  of  my  last  letter  I almost  de- 
spair of  putting  you  in  a humor  to  enjoy  the  serious 
matter  likely  to  be  contained  in  this.  I have  just  re- 


THE  SEINE. 


165 


turned  from  an  excursion  on  foot  from  the  one  end  to 
the  other  of  Paris;  making,  as  a sensible  traveller 
ought  to  do,  remarks  upon  the  customs,  institutions, and 
monuments  of  the  place;  and  here  I am  Avith  a sheet 
of  double  post  to  write  you  down  these  remarks.  I 
would  call  it  a classical  tour  but  I have  some  doubts 
whether  walking  in  a straight  line  isa  /owr,and  there- 
fore I have  called  it  simply  a journal. 

I had  for  my  companion  the  Seine — he  was  going 
for  sea-bathing  to  the  Havre.  His  destination  thence 
no  more  known  than  ours,  when  we  float  into  eternity. 
Some  little  wave  may,  however,  roll  till  it  reach  the 
banks  of  the  Delaware — and  who  knows,  that  lifted 
into  vapor  by  the  sun,  it  may  not  spread  in  rains  upon 
the  Broad  Mountain,  and  at  last  delight  your  tea  tables 
at  Pine  Hill.  I send  you  a kiss;  and  in  recommend- 
ing the  river  to  your  notice,  I must  make  you  acquaint- 
ed with  his  history. 

Most  rivers  except  the  Seine,  and  perhaps  the  Nile, 
have  a high  and  noble  descent — this,  as  I have  read  in 
a French  author,  runs  out  of  a hole  in  the  ground  in 
the  flat  and  dirty  country  of  the  Cote  d’Or;  it  was  con- 
tained once  in  a monk’s  kitchen  near  Dijon,  and  began 
the  world  like  Russian  Kate,  by  washing  the  dishes. 
At  Paris  it  is  called  by  the  polite  French  the  Fleiive 
Toy  ale.  Any  stream  in  this  country  which  is  able  to 
run  down  a hill  is  called  a river — this^  of  course,  is  a 
royal  river.  It  receives  a pretty  large  share  of  its  big- 
ness from  the  Marne  and  Yonne,  and  some  other 
streams,  (for  rivers,  like  great  men,  are  not  only  great 
of  their  own  merits,  but  by  appropriating  that  of 
others,)  and  is  itself  again  lost  in  the  great  ocean.  It 
is  the  most  beneficent  river  on  the  Continent — it  dis- 


166 


THE  AMERICAN  ACACIA. 


tributes  water,  one  of  the  elements  of  life,  to  near  a 
million  of  people  and  it  gives  some  to  the  milk  woman, 

who  furnishes  me  with  cafi,  au  lait  No. , in  the 

Faubourg  St.  Germain  (where  you  will  direct  your 
letters  from  this  date.)  It  is  received  in  its  debut  into 
Paris  magnificently — the  Garden  of  Plants  being  on 
the  left,  and  the  great  avenue  of  the  Bastile  and  the 
elephant  on  its  right,  and  overhead,  five  triumphal 
arches,  which  were  erected  for  its  reception  by  Bona- 
parte, sustaining  the  superb  bridge  of  Austerlitz.  And 
here  commences  my  journal. 

At  twelve  I left  the  Garden  of  Plants,  with  only  a 
peep  through  the  railings.  One  cannot  go  inside  here 
without  stumbling  against  all  creation.  The  whole  of 
the  three  kingdoms — animal,  vegetable,  and  mineral 
— are  gathered  into  this  garden  from  the  four  corners 
of  the  earth,  as  they  were  when  Adam  baptised  them. 
I observed  a great  number  of  plants  growing  out  of 
the  ground  as  fast  as  they  could,  and  little  posts  stand- 
ing prim  and  stiff  along  side  of  them,  to  tell  you  their 
names  in  Apothecaries’  Latin — I mean  their  modern 
names — those  they  got  at  the  great  christening  have 
been  entirely  lost,  and  Monsieur  de  Buffon  and  some 
others  have  been  obliged  to  hunt  them  new  ones  out 
of  the  dictionary.  I did  go  in  a little  and  stood  along- 
side of  an  American  acacia — conceiting  for  a mo- 
ment, I was  on  my  native  earth  again,  and  so  I was — 
for  the  tree  was  transplanted  from  the  Susquehanna, 
and  the  s^il  was  brought  with  it.  It  would  not  other- 
wise grow  out  of  its  native  country. — Alas,  do  you 
expect  that  one’s  affections,  so  much  more  delicate, 
will  not  pine  and  wither  away,  where  there  is  not  a 
particle  of  their  native  aliments  to  support  them!  I 


THE  ACADEMY  OF  NATURE. 


167 


looked  a long  time  upon  a cedar  of  Lebanon — it  stands 
like  a patriarch  in  the  midst  of  his  family,  its  broad 
branches  expanded  hospitably,  inviting  the  traveller 
to  repose.  Along  the  skirts  of  the  Garden,  one  sees 
lions,  and  tigers,  and  jackalls,  and  an  elephant — a 
prisoner  from  Moscara,  lately  burnt  by  the  Grand 
Army.  Several  elephants  fought  and  bled  for  their 
country  on  that  occasion,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  And 
finally,  I saw  what  you  have  never  seen  in  America, 
a giraffe,  a sort  of  quadruped  imitation  of  an  ostrich, 
its  head  twenty  feet  in  the  air;  and  there  were  a great 
number  of  children  and  their  dear  little  mammas  giv- 
ing it  gingerbread.  Deers  also  were  stalking  through 
the  park — but  in  gracility  and  sleekness  how  inferior 
to  ours  of  the  Mahonoy!  and  several  bears  were 
chained  to  posts,  but  not  a whit  less  bearish,  nor  better 
licked,  though  brought  up  in  Paris,  than  ours  of  the 
Sharp  Mountain.  I could  not  help  looking  compas- 
sionately at  a buffalo,  who  stood  thoughtful  and  me- 
lancholy under  an  American  poplar;  his  head  hanging 
down,  and  gazing  upon  the  earth.  He  had  perhaps 
left  a wife  and  children,  and  the  rest  of  the  family  on 
the  banks  of  the  Missouri!  Wherever  the  eye  stray- 
ed, new  objects  of  interest  were  developed.  Goats 
afar  off  were  hanging  upon  cliffs,  as  high  as  a man’s 
head;  and  sheep  from  foreign  countries  (poor  things!) 
were  bleating  through  valleys — six  feet  wide!  All 
the  parrots  in  the  world  were  here  prating;  and  whole 
nations  of  monkeys,  imitating  the  spectators.  '<3rNothing 
in  all  this  Academy  of  Nature,  seemed  to  draw  such 
general  admiration  as  these  monkeys,  and  these  par- 
rots. What  a concourse  of  observers!  It  is  so  strange 
in  Paris  to  hear  words  articulated  without  meaning. 


1 68  ISLANDS  OF  ST.  MARTIN  AND  ST.  LOUIS. 

and  see  grimaces  that  have  no  communication  with  the 
heart. 

Just  in  leaving  the  Garden,  the  Seine  has  lent  some 
of  its  water  to  St.  Martin,  to  make  an  island — saints 
not  being  able  to  make  islands  without  this  accomoda- 
tion. This  island  of  St.  Martin  is  covered,  during 
summer,  with  huge  piles  of  wood,  ingeniously  arranged 
into  pyramids  and  conic  sections.  Some  of  the  piles 
are  built  into  dwellings,  and  let  out  for  the  warm  sea- 
son; so  you  can  procure  here  a very  snug  jittle  sum- 
mer retreat,  and  burn  your  house  to  warm  your  toes 
in  the  winter.  I ought  to  tell  you,  (for  acute  travellers 
never  let  any  thing  of  this  kind  slip,)  that  wood  is  here 
two  sous  a pound.  That  old  woman,  the  government, 
is  very  expensive  in  her  way  of  living,  and  the  mo- 
ment she  finds  any  article  of  first  necessity,  as  salt  or 
fuel,  &c.,  she  claps  a tax  upon  it.  Besides,  all  that 
money,  which  your  rail  road  fanatics  about  Schuylkill, 
lay  out  in  contrivances  to  carry  your  coal  to  market, 
she  lays  out  in  new  frocks — and  this  is  the  reason  wood 
is  two  cents  a pound. 

A little  onward  I stepped  upon  the  quiet  and  peace- 
ful island  of  St.  J^ouis — quiet!  and  yet  it  is  inhabited 
by  nearly  all  the  lawyers  of  Paris.  St.  Louis  is  the 
only  saint  that  has  not  left  off  doing  miracles.  The 
noisy  arts  will  not  venture  on  it,  though  four  bridges 
have  been  made  for  their  accommodation.  It  reminds 
one  of  that  world  of  Ovid’s,  where  every  thing  went 
off  to  Heaven  except  Justice. — Jlstrxa  ultima.  Like 
all  other  places  of  Paris  this  island  has  its  curi- 
osities and  monuments.  You  will  find  here  the  an- 
cient Hotel  de  Mimes^  its  ceilings  painted  by  Lebrun 
and  Lesueur,now  a lumber-house  for  soldiers  and  their 


l’isle  DE  la  CITfi. 


169 


iron  beds,  and  if  you  give  a franc  to  the  cicerone  (the 
porter  and  his  wife)  you  can  get  him  to  tell  you  that 
Bonaparte  was  hid  here  for  two  days  after  the  battle  of 
Waterloo.  He  will  show  you,  if  you  seem  to  doubt, 
the  very  paillasse,  upon  which  the  Emperor,  whilst 
the  allies  were  marching  into  Paris,  slept.  You  will 
find  here  also  some  imperishable  ruins  of  Lebrun  and 
Lesueur,  in  the  once  famous  Hotel  de  Bretonvilliers, 
now  venerable  for  its  dirt,  as  well  as  its  antiquity. 

I admired  awhile  the  Halle  aux  Vins^'*  one  of  the 
curiosities  of  the  left  bank,  enclosed  on  three  sides  by 
a wall,  and  on  the  side  of  the  Seine,  by  an  iron  railing 
889  yards.  It  contains  800,000  casks  of  wine  and 
spirits,  from  which  are  drawn  annually  for  the  use  of 
Paris,  20  millions  of  gallons.  France  by  a cunning 
legislation  prevents  this  natural  produce  of  her  soil  es- 
caping from  the  country,  by  laying  a prohibitory  duty 
upon  the  industry  of  other  nations,  which  would 
enable  them  to  purchase  it;  so  we  have  the  whole 
drinking  of  it  to  ourselves,  and  we  oblige  John  Bull 
to  stick  to  his  inflammatory  Port  and  Madeira. 

LHsle  de  la  Cit^  comes  next;  the  last  but  not  the 
least  remarkable  of  the  three  sister  islands,  called  the 
Island  of  the  Cite,  because  once  all  Paris  was  here,  and 
there  was  no  Paris  any  where  else.  Antony  used  to 
quaff  old  Falernian  on  this  island  with  Caesar,  and  run 
after  the  grisette  girls  and  milliners,  whilst  they  sent 
Labienus  to  look  after  Dumnorix;  and  here  in  a later 
age  came  the  gay  and  gartered  earls;  knights  in  full 
panoply;  fashionable  belles  in  rustling  silks,  and  the 
winds  brought  delicate  perfumes  on  their  wings.  At 
present  no  Arabic  incense  is  wasted  upon  the  air  of 
this  island.  Filth  has  set  up  her  tavern  here,  and 
VoL.  I. — 15 


170 


NOTRE  DAME. 


keeps  the  dirtiest  house  of  all  Paris.  Butin  the  midst 
of  this  beggary  of  comfort  and  decency,  are  glorious 
monuments  which  the  rust  of  ages  has  not  yet  con- 
sumed; the  Hotel  Dieu^  Palais  de  Justice,  and  Prx- 
fecturate  of  Police;  and  I had  like  to  have  forgotten 
that  majestic  old  pile  with  fretted  roofs  and  towers 
pinnacled  in  the  clouds,  with  Gothic  windows,  and 
grizly  saints  painted  on  them, 

“ So  old,  as  if  she  had  forever  stood, 

So  strong  as  if  she  would  forever  stand,” 

whose  bells  at  this  moment  are  tolling  over  the  dead, 
the  venerable,  the  time-honored  iVb/re  Dame  de  Paris. 
This  old  lady  is  the  queen  of  the  cite.  Her  corner- 
stone was  laid  by  Pope  Alexander  III,  upon  the  ruins 
of  an  old  Roman  temple  of  Jupiter,  in  1163.  So  you 
see  she  is  a very  reverend  old  lady.  Her  bell  is  eight 
feet  in  diameter,  and  requires  sixteen  men  to  set  its 
clapper  in  motion.  On  entering  this  church,  the  work 
of  so  many  generations,  in  contemplating  its  size,  the 
immense  height  of  its  dome  and  roofs,  and  the  huge 
pillars  which  sustain  them,  with  the  happy  disposition 
and  harmony  of  all  these  masses,  one  is  seized  with 
a very  sudden  reverence  and  a very  modest  sense  of 
one’s  own  littleness;  and  yet  a minute  before  one  look- 
ed upon  the  glorious  sun,  and  Avalked  under  this 
most  excellent  canopy”  almost  without  astonishment. 
You  will  see  here,  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  persons  de- 
voutly at  their  beads,  intent  on  their  prayer  books,  or 
kneeling  at  the  cross.  Except  on  days  of  parade,  you 
will  see  almost  six  women  to  one  man;  and  these  ra- 
ther old.  Women  must  love  something.  When  the 
day  of  their  terrestrial  affections  has  faded  their  loves 


THE  PALAIS  DE  JUSTICE. 


171 


become  celestial  When  they  can’t  love  anything 
else,  why  they  love  God.  “ Jlime  Dieu^  Saint e 
Therese,  c'est  toujour  aimer. The  Emperor  Julian 
stajmd  a winter  on  this  island,  at  which  time  the  river 
washed  (not  the  Emperor"^)  but  the  base  of  the  walls 
of  the  city;  and  Paris  was  accessible  only  by  two 
wooden  bridges.  He  called  it  his  Luletia^  iriv 
AsvxsifLav,  his  beloved  city  of  mud. 

The  Palais  de  Justice^  or  Lit  de  Justice^  as  the 
French  appropriately  call  it,  (for  the  old  lady  does 
sometimes  take  a nap,)  is  a next  door  neighbor.  This 
palace  lodged  long  ago,  the  old  Roman  Praefects;  the 
kings  of  the  first  race,  the  counts  of  Paris  under  the 
second,  and  twelve  kings  of  the  third.  The  great 
Hotel  Dieu  or  Hospital  counts  all  the  years  between 
us  and  king  Pepin,^ about  twelve  hundred.  It  is  a 
manly,  solid  and  majestic  building;  its  fagade  is  adorn- 
ed with  Doric  columns,  and  beneath  the  entablature, 
are  Force,  Prudence  and  Justice,  and  several  other 
virtues  stupified  in  stone.”  But  I will  give  you  a 
more  particular  account  of  it,  as  well  as  of  the  right 
worshipful  Notre  Dame,  and  the  Palace,  when  I write 
my  book  about  Churches,  Hospitals,  and  the  Courts 
of  Justice.  I will  only  remark  now  that  I visited  this 


* We  learn  from  tradition  that  Julian  never  washed  hands  or  face  or 
suffered  any  kind  of  ablution,  unless,  perhaps,  at  his  christening.  In 
a word  he  was  a very  dirty  emperor.  Is  not  it  strange  that  his  “ Baths” 
should  be  the  only  monument  remaining  of  him  in  Paris?  I presume 
they  are  named  ironically,  or  from  the  old  rule  of  non  lavando.  The 
following  anecdote  is  apropos  to  this  subject.  “ Ilis  steward  one  day 
brought  him  a beautiful  maid,  bathed  and  richly  perfumed,  and  his 
majesty  having  discovered  it,  quando  teiigisset^  et  digitos  suos  odora- 
tus  essetshe  exclaimed:  Diable  Us  m'ont  gate  cette  femme  /d/”  You 
will  find  this  in  the  French  notes  to  Julian’s  Misopogon. 


172 


THE  POLICE. 


great  Hospital  a few  days  ago,  and  that  I saw  in  it  a 
thousand  beds,  and  a poor  devil  stretched  out  on  each 
bed,  waiting  his  turn  to  be  despatched;  that  the  doc- 
tor came  along  about  six,  and  prescribed  a buillon  et 
un  lavement  to  them  all  round;  a hundred  or  two  of 
students  following  after,  of  whom  about  a dozen  could 
approach  the  beds,  and  when  symptoms  were  exami- 
ned, and  legs  cut  off,  or  some  such  surgical  operation 
performed,  the  others  listened. 

But  it  would  be  ungrateful  in  me  to  pass  without  a 
special  notice  the  Prsefecturate  of  Police,  If  I now 

lodge  in  the  Rue  D^Enfer^  No.  , looking  down 

upon  the  garden  of  Luxembourg,  and  having  my  con- 
duct registered  once  a week  in  the  king’s  books;  if  I 
have  permission  to  abide  in  Paris;  and  above  all,  if 
ever  I shall  have  the  permission  to  go  out  of  it;  whi- 
ther am  I to  refer  these  inestimable  privileges,  but 
to  the  never-sleeping  eye  of  the  Prsefecturate  of  Police? 
But  the  merits  of  this  institution  are  founded  upon  a 
much  wider  scheme  of  benefits;  for  which  I am  going 
to  look  into  my  Guide  de  Paris,  It  ^^discourages 
pauperism”  by  sending  most  of  the  beggars  out  of 
Paris,  to  besiege  the  Diligence  on  the  highways;  and 
gives  aid  to  dead  people  by  fishing  them  out  of  the 
Seine,  at  25  francs  a piece,  into  the  Morgue.  It  pro- 
tects personal  safety  by  entering  private  houses  in  the 
night,  and  commits  all  persons  taken  in  the  fact  {fa- 
grant  delit;)  it  preserves  public  decency  by  remov- 
ing courtezans  from  the  Palais  Royal  to  the  Boule- 
vards, and  other  convenient  places;  and  protects  his 
Most  Christian  Majesty  by  seizing  upon  Infernal 
Machines,”  just  after  the  explosion.  In  a word,  this 
Prsefecturate  of  Police,  with  only  500,000  troops  of 


THE  MORGUE. 


173 


the  line,  and  the  National  guard,  encourages  all  sorts 
of  public  morals  at  the  rate  of  seven  hundred  mil- 
lions of  francs  per  annum,  besides  protecting  com- 
merce by  taking  gentlemen’s  segars  out  of  their  pock- 
ets at  Havre. 

Towards  the  south  and  west  of  the  Island  you  will 
see  a little  building  distinguished  from  its  dingy  neigh- 
bors by  its  gentility  and  freshness.  It  stands  retired 
by  the  river  side  modestly,  giving  a picturesque  ap- 
pearance to  the  whole  prospect,  and  a relief  to  the 
giant  monuments  which  I have  just  described.  This 
building  is  the  Morgue,  If  any  gentleman,  having 
lost  his  money  at  Frascati’s — or  his  health  and  his 
money  too  at  the  pretty  Flora’s — or  if  any  melan- 
choly stranger  lodging  in  the  Rue  D’Enfer,  absent 
from  his  native  home  and  the  sweet  affections  of  his 
friends,  should  find  life  insupportable,  (there  are  no 
disappointed  loves  in  this  country,)  he  will  lie  in  state 
next  morningatthe  Morgue.  Upona  black  marble  table 
he  will  be  stretched  out,  and  his  clothes,  bloody  or  wet, 
will  be  hung  over  him,  and  there  he  will  be  kept  (ex- 
cept in  August  when  he  won’t  keep)  for  three  whole 
days  and  as  many  nights;  and  if  no  one  claims  him, 
why  then  the  king  of  the  French  sells  him  for  ten 
francs  to  the  doctors;  and  his  clothes,  after  six  months, 
belong  to  Frangois  thefsteward,  who  has  them  altered 
for  his  dear  little  children,  or  sells  them  for  second 
hand  finery  in  the  market. 

One  of  these  suicides,  as  I have  read  in  the  Revue 
de  PariSy  was  claimed  the  other  day  by  his  affection- 
ate uncle,  as  follows.  A youth  wrote  to  his  uncle  that 
he  had  lost  at  gambling  certain  sums  entrusted  to  him, 
in  his  province,  to  pay  a debt  in  Paris,  and  that  he 
15* 


174 


NUMBER  OF  SUICIDES. 


was  unwilling  to  survive  the  disgrace.  The  uncle  re- 
cognised him  and  buried  him  with  becoming  ceremony 
at  Pere  la  Chaise.  In  returning  home  from  this  solemn 
duty,  the  youth  rushed  into  his  uncle’s  arms,  and  they 
hugged  and  kissed,  and  hugged  each  other  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  spectators.  It  is  so  agreeable  to 
see  one’s  nephews,  after  one  has  buried  them,  jump 
about  one’s  neck! 

The  annual  number  of  persons  who  commit  suicide 
in  all  France  I have  seen  stated  at  two  thousand. 
Those  who  came  to  the  Morgue  in  1822,  were  260. 
Is  it  not  strange  that  the  French  character,  so  flexible 
and  fruitful  of  resources  in  all  circumstances  of  for- 
tune, should  be  subject  to  this  excess?  And  that  they 
should  kill  themselves,  too,  for  the  most  absurd  and 
frivolous  causes. — One,  as  I have  read  in  the  journals, 
from  disgust  at  putting  on  his  breeches  in  the  cold 
winter  mornings — and  two  lately  (Ecousse  and  Le- 
brun) because  a farce  they  had  written  did  not  suc- 
ceed at  the  play  house.  The  authors  chose  to  incur 
the  same  penalty  in  the  other  world  that  was  inflicted 
on  their  vaudeville  in  this.  And  these  Catos  of  Utica 
are  brought  here  to  the  Morgue.  The  greater  part 
are  caught  in  the  Seine,  by  a net  stretched  across  the 
river  at  St.  Cloud.  Formerly  twenty-five  francs  were 
given  for  a man  saved,  and  twenty  if  drowned;  and 
the  rogues  cheated  the  government  of  its  humanity 
by  getting  up  a company,  who  saved  each  other  time 
about  by  collusion.  The  sum  is  now  reversed,  so  that 
they  always  allow  one  time,  and  even  assist  one  a little 
sometimes,  for  the  additional  five  francs.  The  build- 
ing, by  the  advance  of  civilisation,  has  required,  this 
season,  to  be  repaired,  and  a new  story  is  added.  Mul- 


M.  PERRIN. 


175 


titudes,  male  and  female^  are  seen  going  in  and  out  at 
every  hour  of  the  day.  You  can  stop  in  on  your  way 
as  you  go  to  the  flower  market,  which  is  just  oppo- 
site. There  is  a lady  at  the  bureau  who  attends  in 
her  father’s  absence  the  sale  and  recognition  of  the 
corpses,  and  who  plays  the  piano  and  excels  in  seve- 
ral of  the  ornamental  branches. 

She  was  crowned  at  the  last  distribution  of  prizes, 
and  is  the  daughter  of  the  keeper,  Mr.  Perrin.  He 
has  four  other  daughters,  who  also  give  the  same  pro- 
mise of  accomplishment.  Their  morals  do  not  run 
the  same  risk  as  most  other  children’s,  of  being  spoilt 
by  a bad  intercourse  from  without.  Indeed  they  are 
so  little  used  to  associate  abroad  that,  getting  into  a 
neighbor’s  the  other  day,  they  asked  their  playmates, 
running  about  through  the  house,  Where  does  your 
papa  keep  his  dead  people?”  Innocent  little  creatures! 
Mr.  Perrin  is  a man  of  excellent  instruction  himself, 
and  entertains  his  visiters  with  conversations  literary 
and  scientific,  and  he  writes  a fine  round  text  hand. 
When  a new  corpse  arrives  he  puts  himself  at  his 
desk,  and  with  a graceful  flourish  enters  it  on  the  book; 
and  when  not  claimed  at  the  end  of  three  days,he  writes 
down  in  german  text,  inconnuf^  if  known,  conmip 
The  exhibition  room  is,  since  its  enlargement,  sufficient 
for  the  ordinary  wants  of  society;  but  on  emergencies, 
as  on  the  “ three  glorious  days,”  and  the  like  they  are 
obliged  to  accommodate  apart  of  the  corpses  elsewhere. 
They  have  been  seen  strewed,  on  these  occasions, 
over  the  garden;  and  Miss  Perrin  has  to  take  some  in 
her  room. — Alas,  that  no  state  of  life  should  be  ex- 
empt from  its  miseries!  You  who  think  to  have  pro- 
pitiated fortune  by  the  humility  of  your  condition 


176 


PLACE  DE  GREVE. 


come  hither  and  contemplate  Mr.  Perrin.  Only  a few 
years  ago,  when  quietly  engaged  in  his  official  duties, 
his  own  wife  came  in  with  the  other  customers.  He 
was  struck  with  horror;  and  he  went  to  his  bureau 
and  wrote  down  ‘‘connu!^^ 

The  notorious  Hotel  de  Ville  is  well  placed  in  a 
group  with  these  obscene  images.  It  is  the  seat  of 
the  administration  of  justice  for  all  Paris,  a gray  and 
grief-worn  castle ; with  the  Place  de  Greve  by  the  side 
of  it.  There  it  stands  by  the  great  thermometer  of 
Monsieur  Chevalier,  where  the  French  people  come 
twice  a day  to  see  if  they  ought  to  shiver  or  sweat. 
There  is  not  a more  abominable  place  in  all  Paris  than 
this  Place  de  Greve,  It  holds  about  the  same  rank  in 
the  city  that  the  hangman  does  in  the  community. 
There  flowed  the  blood  of  the  ferocious  Republic,  of 
the  grim  Empire,  and  the  avenging  Restoration.  Ral- 
ly’s ghost  haunts  the  guilty  place.  Cartouche  was 
burnt  there,  and  the  horrible  Marchioness  Brinvil- 
liers;  Damien  and  Ravillac  were  tortured  there.  The 
beautiful  princess  de  Lamballe  assassinated  there,  and 
the  martyrs  of  1830  buried  there.  To  complete  your 
horror,  there  is  yet  the  lamp  post — the  Revolutionary 
gibbet,  and  the  window  through  which  Robespierre 
leaped  out,  and  broke— if  I were  not  writing  to  a lady 
I would  say — his  damned  neck!  No  accusing  spirit 
Avould  fly  to  Heaven’s  chancery  with  the  oath. 

I began  to  breathe  as  I stepped  upon  the  Pont 
Neuf.  The  atmosphere  brightened,  the  prospect  sud- 
denly opened,  and  the  noble  river  exhibited  its  twenty 
bridges,  and  its  banks,  turretted,  towered  and  castel- 
lated, as  far  as  the  eye  could  pierce.  There  is  a ro- 
mantic interest  in  the  very  name  of  this  bridge,  as  in 


THE  BIBLIOPOLIST. 


177 


the  Bridge  of  Sighs/^  though  not  a great  deal  richer 
in  architecture  than  yours  of  Fair  Mount.  And  what 
is  the  reason?  Why  is  the  Rialto  more  noble  than 
your  Exchange  of  Dock  street?  You  see  Pierre  and 
Jaffier,  and  the  Jew,  standing  on  it.  The  Pont  Nevf 
has  arched  the  Seine  since  200  years  and  more.  It 
was  once  the  centre  of  gaiety  and  fashion,  and  busi- 
ness. Here  were  displayed  the  barbaric  hixury  of 
Maria  de  Medicis,  and  the  pompous  Richelieu;  glitter- 
ing equipages  paraded  here  in  their  evening  airings, 
and  fair  ladies  in  masks — better  disguised  in  their  own 
faces — crowded  here  to  the  midnight  routes  of  the 
Carnival.  A company  in  1709  had  an  exclusive 
privilege  of  a depot  of  umbrellas  at  each  end,  that 
ladies  and  gentlemen  paying  a sous  might  cross  with- 
out injury  to  their  complexions.  The  fine  arts,  for- 
merly natives  of  this  place,  have  since  emigrated  to 
the  Palais  Royal — ripx  idterioris  amentes — and 
despair  now  comes  hither  at  midnight — and  the  horrid 
suicide,  by  the  silent  statue  of  the  great  Henry,  plunges 
into  eternity. 

On  the  left  is  the  Quai  cles  tdugustins,  where  the 
patient  bibliopolist  sits  over  his  odd  volumes,  and 
where  the  cheapest  of  all  human  commodities  is  hu- 
man wit.  A black  and  ancient  building  gives  an  im- 
posing front  to  the  Quai  Conti;  it  is  the  Hotel  des 
Monnaies,  Commerce,  Prudence  and  several  other 
allegorical  grandmothers  are  looking  down  from  the 
balustrade.  Next  to  it,  (for  the  Muses  too  love  the 
mint,)  with  a horse-shoe  kind  of  face,  is  the  Royal 
‘‘Institute  de  FranceP  This  court  has  supreme 
jurisdiction,  in  the  French  Republic  of  letters;  it  regu- 
lates the  public  judgment  in  matters  of  science,  fine 


178 


ACAD^MIE  DES  SCIENCES. 


arts,  language,  and  literary  composition:  it  proposes 
questions,  and  rewards  the  least  stupid,  if  discovered, 
with  a premium,  and  gives  its  approbation  of  ingenious 
inventors,  who,  like  Fulton,  do  not  die  of  hunger  in 
waiting  for  it.  You  may  attend  the  sittings  of  the 
Jicademie  des  Sciences,  which  are  public,  on  Mon- 
days. You  will  meet  Pascal,  and  Moliere,  in  the 
antechamber — as  far  as  they  dared  venture  in  their 
lives.  The  members  you  will  see  in  front  of  broad 
tables  in  the  interior,  and  the  President  eminent  above 
the  rest,  who  ever  and  anon  will  ring  a little  bell  by 
way  of  keeping  less  noise:  the  spectators,  with  busts 
of  Sully,  Bossuet,  Fenelon,  and  Descartes,  sitting 
gravely,  tier  over  tier,  around  the  extremities  of  the 
room.  The  Secretary  will  then  run  over  a programme 
of  the  subjects,  not  without  frequent  tinklings  of  the 
admonitory  bell;  at  the  end  of  which,  debates  will 
probably  arise  on  general  subjects  or  matters  of  form. 
For  example  Mr.  Arago  will  call  in  question  the  ve- 
racity of  that  eminent  man,  Mr.  Herschel  of  New 
York,  and  his  selenelogical  discoveries;  which  have 
a great  credit  here;  no  one  sees  the  moon  for  the  fogs, 
and  you  may  tell  as  many  lies  about  her  as  you  please. 
Afterwards  a little  man  of  solemn  mien,  being  seated 
upon  a chair,  will  read  you,  alas,  one  of  his  own  com- 
positions. He  will  talk  of  nothing  but  the  geognosie 
des  couches  atmospheriques ; the  isomorphism  of  the 
minera  logical  substances,  and  the  Asyntotes  of  the 
Parabola^^  for  an  hour.  You  will  then  have  an 
episode  from  Baron  Lary  (no  one  listening,)  upon  a 
bag  of  dry  bones,  displayed  a la  Johassuphat  upon  a 
wide  table,  followed  by  another  reader,  and  then  by 


ISABEAU  DE  BAVIERE. 


179 


another  to  the  eijd  of  the  sitting — You  will  think  the 
empire  of  dulness  has  come  upon  the  earth. 

The  Institute  was  once  the  College  des  Quatre 
Nalions,  and  was  founded  by  Mazarin  upon  the 
ruins  of  the  famous  Tour  de  Nesle,  I need  not  tell 
you  the  history  of  this  Tour.  Who  does  not  know 
all  about  Queen  Isabeau  de  Baviere?  Of  her  win- 
dow from  the  heights  of  the  Tour,  from  which  she 
overlooked  the  Seine,  before  the  baths  of  Count  Vi- 
gier  (what  made  him  a count?)  were  invented.  She 
was  a great  admirer  of  the  fine  forms  of  the  human 
figure;  and  she  was  the  first  woman  in  Europe,  as  I 
have  read  in  the  old  chronicles,  who  had  two  che- 
mises. The  French  have  always  been  fond  of  much 
linen.  I have  no  wish  to  find  fault  with  her  for  this 
latter  piece  of  extravagance;  but  I cannot  speak  with 
the  same  indulgence  of  other  particulars  of  her  history. 
Her  ill  treatment  of  her  lovers — her  sewing  them  up, 
to  prevent  their  telling  tales,  in  sacks,  and  then  toss- 
ing them  before  daylight  into  the  river,  was,  to  say 
the  least  of  it — very  wrong!  In  crossing  the  Pont 
des  Arts  towards  midnight  I have  often  heard  some- 
thing very  like  the  voices  of  lamentation  and  violence. 
Sometimes  I thought  I could  hear  distinctly  Isabeau! 
in  the  murmuring  of  the  waters. 

All  the  world  runs  to  the  Bains  Vigiers^  which 
are  anchored  along  this  Quai,  to  bathe  at  four  sous; 
but  the  water  is  exceedingly  foul.  It  is  here  the 
Seine, 

“ With  disemboguing  streams, 

Rolls  the  large  tribute  of  its  dead  dogs.” 

And  what  is  worst,  when  done  bathing  here,  you 
have  no  place  to  go  to  wash  yourself. 


180 


PONT  DES  ARTS. 


The  Font  des  Jirts  is  a light  and  jiry  bridge  from 
the  door  of  the  Institute  to  the  Quai  du  Louvre;  upon 
which  no  equipages  are  admitted.  The  Arts  use 
their  legs — cruribus  non  currihus  iituntur.  Be- 
tween this  and  the  Pont  Royal/’  (a  bridge  of  solid 
iron)  the  antiquarians  have  got  together  for  sale  all 
the  curious  remains  of  the  last  century,  Chineeseries, 
Sevreries,  and  chimney  pieces  of  Madam  Pompadour. 
Next  is  the  Quai  Voltaire^  in  the  east  corner  of 
which  is  the  last  earthly  habitation  of  the  illustrious 
individual  whose  name  it  bears.  The  apartment  in 
which  he  died  has  been  kept  shut  for  the  last  forty 
years,  and  has  been  lately  thrown  open.  On  the 
opposite  side  you  see  stretched  out  huge  in  length, 
the  heavy  and  monotonous  Louvre,  which,  with  the 
Tuileries  adjoining,  is,  they  say,  the  most  spacious 
and  beautiful  palace  in  the  world.  I have  not  expe- 
rienced what  the  artists  call  a perception  of  its  beau- 
ties. There  is  a little  pet  corner,  the  eastern  colonnade 
raised  by  Louis  XIV,  which  is  called  the  great  tri- 
umph of  French  architecture.  It  consists  of  a long 
series  of  apartments  decorated  with  superb  columns, 
with  sculpture  and  mosaics,  and  a profusion  of  gilding, 
and  fanciful  ornaments.*  From  the  middle  gallery 
it  was  that  Charles  IX,  one  summer’s  evening,  amused 
himself  shooting  Hugonots,  flying  the  St.  Bartholo- 
mew, with  his  arquebuss.  Nero  was  a mere  fiddler 
to  this  fellow.  This  is  the  gallery  of  Philip  Augustus, 


* Louis,  by  a royal  edict,  ordered  that  no  other  building  should  he 
constructed  in  Paris  until  this  work  was  complete,  under  a penally 
of  imprisonment,  and  ten  thousand  francs  fine.  It  was  something  in 
those  days  to  be  a king.  One  has  now  to  ask  tho  Deputies  every 
thing,  even  to  gilding  the  ceilings  of  the  Madelaine. 


THE  WASHERWOMEN. 


181 


so  full  of  romance.  It  was  from  here  that  Charles  X 
cut  and  ran/’  and  Louis  Philippe  quietly  sat  down  on 
his  stool.  See  how  the  Palais  des  Beaux  Arts  is  pep- 
pered with  the  Swiss  bullets! 

The  edge  of  the  river,  for  half  a mile,  is  embroider- 
ed with  washerwomen;  and  baths,  and  boats  of 
charcoal  cover  its  whole  surface.  One  cannot  drown 
himself  here,  but  at  the  risk  of  knocking  out  his  brains. 
One  of  the  curiosities  of  this  place,  is  the  f^e  des 
Blanchisseusesj  celebrated  a few  days  ago.  The 
whole  surface  of  the  river  was  covered  with  dances; 
floors  being  strewed  upon  the  boats;  and  the  boats 
adorned  with  flags  and  streamers,  rowing  about,  and 
fllled  with  elegant  washerwomen,  just  from  the  froth, 
like  so  many  Venuses — now  dissolving  in  a waltz, 
now  fluttering  in  a quadrille.  You  ought  to  have 
seen  how  they  chose  out  the  most  beautiful  of  these 
washerwomen — the  queen  of  the  Suds — and  rowed 
her  in  a triumphal  gondola  through  the  stream,  with 
music  that  untwisted  all  the  chains  of  harmony. 

“Cleopatra,  on  her  galley’s  deck, 

Display’d  so  much  of  leg,  or  more  of  neck.” 

This  array  of  washing-boats  relieves  the  French 
from  that  confusion,  and  misery  of  the  American 
kitchen,  the  washing-day;”  but  to  give  us  the  water 
to  drink,  after  all  this  scouring  of  foul  linen,  is  not  so 
polite.  I have  bought  a filter  of  charcoal,  which,  they 
say,  will  intercept,  at  least,  the  petticoats  and  other 
such  articles,  as  I might  have  swallowed.  The  Seine 
here  suffers  the  same  want  as  one  of  his  brother  rivers, 
sung  by  the  poets; 

VoL.  L— 16 


182 


SWIMMING  SCHOOLS. 


“ The  river  Rhine,  it  is  well  knov/n, 

Doth  wash  the  city  of  Cologne,  ✓ 

But  tell  me.  Nymphs,  what  power  divine, 
Shall  henceforth  wash  the  river  Rhine.” 


Just  opposite  this  Quai,  I observed  Schools  of 
Natation/’  for  both  sexes,  kept  entirely  separate.  An 
admonition  is  placed  over  the  ladies’  school  to  this 
effect,  in  large  letters;  besides  it  is  hermetically  secured 
against  any  impertinent  intrusion,  by  a piece  of  linen. 
The  ladies,  however,  were  put  to  their  last  shifts,  last 
summer,  in  maintaining  this  establishment.  Such 
rigid  notions  do  some  persons  here  entertain  of  femi- 
nine decorum!  But  opposition  has  now  died  away; 
and  the  reports  about  gentlemen  of  the  other  house” 
becoming  love-sick,  from  swimming  in  the  waters 
from  the  ladies’  bath,  have  been  proved  malicious:  for 
the  gentlemen’s  house  is  farther  up  the  stream,  et 
par  consequence^ — The  truth  is,  that  a lady  has  as 
much  right,  and,  unfortunately,  in  these  ship-wrecking 
times,  as  much  necessity  often,  to  swim  as  a gentle- 
man; and  it  is  ascertained  that,  with  the  same  chance, 
the  woman  is  the  better  swimmer  of  the  two.  (I 
have  this  from  the  lady  who  keeps  the  bureau.)  Her 
head  is  always  above  the  water.  All  of  them,  and 
especially  those  who  have  the  vapors,  can  swim  with- 
out cork.  The  process  of  instruction  is  easy.  All 
that  the  swimming  master  has  to  do,  is  just  to  thrust 
the  little  creatures  into  a pair  of  gum-elastic  trousers, 
and  a cravat,  inflated,  and  then  pitch  them  in,  one 
after  another — only  taking  care  not  to  put  on  the 
trousers  without  the  cravat. — I will  finish  this  para- 
graph, already  too  long,  by  an  anecdote.  I will  show 


THE  TELESCOPE  MAKER. 


183 


you  that  ladies,  who  swim,  cannot  use  too  much  cir- 
cumspection. I mean,  by  circumspection,  looking  up, 
as  well  as  round  about  them.  The  ever  vigilant  police 
about  the  Tuileries,  had  observed  a young  gentleman 
very  busy  with  tools,  at  an  opposite  garret  window, 
for  whole  weeks  together.  Sometimes,  till  the  latest 
hour  of  the  night,  his  lamp  Avas  seen  glimmering  at 
the  said  window.  At  length,  by  the  dint  of  looking, 
and  looking,  they  discovered  something  like  an  “ In- 
fernal Machine,’’  placed  directly  towards  the  apart- 
ment of  the  king  and  queen,  and  the  bedchamber  of 
the  dear  little  princesses  and  Madame  Adelaide.  It 
was  just  after  the  July  review,  and  General  Mortier’s 
disaster;  and  suspicion  lay  all  night  wide  awake. 
What  needs  many  words?  They  burst  into  the  room 
— the  Garde  Municipale^’  and  the  ‘‘police  cen- 
trale^^  the  “ pompiers and  the  “ sapeurs^'^^  and  the 
Serjeants  clad  in  blue,  with  buttons  to  their’arms,  and 
•swords  to  their  sides,  and  coifed  in  chapeaux,  three 
feet  in  diameter — breaking  down  all  opposition  of 
doors,  and  dragged  forth  the  terrified  young  man. 
The  tongues  of  all  Paris  were  now  set  loose,  as  usual, 
and  proclamations  were  read  through  the  streets,  de 
Vhorrible  assassinat  tent^  contre  la  vie  du  roi,  et  de 
la  famille  royale,  &c.  &c.,  and  all  that  for  four  sous! 
It  was  even  said,  that  he  had  made  important  reve- 
lations to  the  minister  of  the  Interior;  and  that  some 
of  the  most  distinguished  Carlists  were  implicated  in 
his  guilt.  At  length,  he  was  brought  up  before  the 
Chamber  of  Peers,  with  his  machine;  where  it  was 
examined,  and  discoA^ered  to  be — what  do  you  think? 
— a telescope ! The  young  man  alleged  that  he  was 
getting  it  up  for  astronomical  purposes;  but  the  presi- 


184 


THE  GARDENS  OF  THE  TUILERIES. 


dent,  a shrewd  man  about  machines,  observed  that 
its  obliquity  was  in  an  opposite  direction  to  the  stars. 

The  Seine  flows  gently  by  the  side  of  the  Tuileries; 
both  from  the  pleasure  it  has  had  in  bathing  the  royal 
family,  and  the  delight  of  listening  to  the  king’s  band, 
which  plays  here  every  evening,  and  from  this  on- 
wards, the  right  bank  is  occupied  by  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries  and  Champs  Elysees.  If  you  wish  to 
know  how  more  beautiful  than  the  gardens  of  Armida 
is  this  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  I refer  you  to  my  for- 
mer letters;  especially  to  that  one  which  I wrote  you 
when  I had  just  fallen  from  the  clouds.  I admired, 
then,  every  thing  with  sensibility,  and  a good  many 
things  with  ecstasy.  Somebody  has  said,  that  every 
one  who  is  born,  is  as  much  a first  man  as  Adam, 
which  I do  not  quite  believe.  Adam  came  straight 
into  the  world,  all  made  up.”  He  came  into  the 
midst  of  a creation,  which  rushed,  with  the  freshness 
of  novelty,  upon  his  senses,  and  was  not  introduced  to 
him  by  gradual  acquaintance.  How  many  things  did 
this  first  man  see  in  Eden,  which  you  and  I could 
never  have  seen  in  it;  and  which  he  himself  had 
never  seen  in  it,  if  he  had  been  put  out  to  nurse, 
or  had  been  brought  up  at  the  College  Rolein.” 
I wish  it  had  pleased  Providence  to  people  this 
world  with  men  and  women  of  his  own  making, 
and  not  left  us  to  be  made  by  bungling  nurses, 
and  still  more  bungling  schoolmasters.  How  often 
have  I since  wandered  through  this  garden,  without 
even  glancing  at  the  white  and  snowy  bosom  of  the 
Queen  of  Love — how  often  walked  upon  this  goodly 
terrace— strolling  all  the  while,  the  pretty  Miss  Smith 
at  one  arm,  and  thy  incomparable  self  at  the  other. 


THE  MARRQUIS  DE  MILRAYE. 


185 


by  the  wizard  Schuylkill,  or  the  silent  woods  of  the 
Mahantongo. 

Opposite  this  garden,  on  the  Quai  d?  Orsay  is 
the  Hotel,  not  finished,  of  the  Minister  of  the  Interieur; 
the  most  enormous  building  of  all  Paris.  It  has  turned 
all  the  houses  near  it  into  huts.  That^  just  under  its 
huge  flanks,  with  a meek  and  prostrate  aspect,  as  if 
making  an  apology  for  intruding  into  the  presence 
of  its  prodigious  neighbor,  that  is  the  Hotel  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  Alas,  what  signifies  it  to  have 
bullied  all  Europe  for  half  a century!  Close  by  is  a 
little  chateau,  formerly  of  the  Marquis  de  Milraye, 
which  I notice  only  to  tell  you  an  anecdote  of  his 
wife.  The  prince  Philip  came  to  Paris,  and  died 
very  suddenly — under  Louis  XIV.  He  was  a great 
roue  and  libertine,  and  some  one  moralising,  expressed, 
before  the  Marchioness,  doubts  about  his  salvation. 
‘‘Je  vous  assure,’^  said  she  very  seriously,  ‘‘ qid  h 
des  gens  de  cette  quality  Ici  Dieu  y regarde^  Men  h 
deux  fois  pour  les  damner,’’  Ladies  bred  in  high 
life  don’t  think  that  kings  may  be  damned  like  thee 
and  me. 

The  next  object  of  importance,  and  the  object  of 
most  importance  of  all  Paris,  is  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies,  I wished  to  go  in,  but  four  churlish  and 
bearded  men  disputed  me  this  privilege. — I sat  down, 
therefore,  upon  the  steps,  having  Justice,  Temperance, 
and  Prudence,  and  another  elderly  lady  on  each  side 
of  me;  and  I consoled  myself  and  said:  In  this  House 
the  Virtues  are  shut  out  of  doors.  I had  also  in  the 
same  groupe,  Sully,  Hopital,  Dagusseau,  and  Colbert. 
What  superhuman  figures!  And  I had  in  front  the 
Bridge  of  Concord,  upon  which  are  placed  twelve 

16"^ 


186 


A FAIR  VISITANT. 


statues  in  marble,  also  of  the  Colossal  breed.  A 
deputy,  as  he  waddles  through  the  midst  of  them, 
seems  no  bigger  than  Lemuel  Gulliver,  just  arrived 
at  Brobdignag.  Four  are  of  men  distinguished  in 
war;  Conde,  who  looks  ridiculously  grim,  and  Tu- 
renne,  Duguesclin,  and  Bayard;  and  four  eminent 
statesmen,  Suger,  Richelieu,  Sulley,  Colbert;  and  four 
of  men  famous  on  the  sea,  Tourville,  Suffren,  Du- 
quesne,  and  who  was  the  other? — He  whose  name 
would  shame  an  epic  poem,  or  the  Paris  Directory, 
Duguay-Trouin.  I took  off  my  hat  to  Suffren,  for  he 
helped  us  with  our  Independence. 

On  the  back  ground  of  this  Palace,  is  a delightful 
woodland,  where  the  members  often  seek  refreshment 
from  the  fatigues  of  business  in  the  open  air.  Here, 
you  will  see  a Lycurgus  seated  apart  and  ruminating 
upon  the  fate  of  empires;  and  there  a pair  of  Solons, 
unfolding  the  mazes  of  human  policy,  straying  arm 

in  arm  through  its  solitary  gravel  walks.  M.  Q -, 

a member  of  this  Chamber  and  sometimes  minister, 
was  seen  walking  here  assiduously  during  the  last 
summer  evenings;  and  often  when  the  twilight  had 
just  faded  into  night,  a beautiful  female  figure  was 
seen  walking  with  him.  It  did  not  seem  to  be  of  mortal 
race,  but  a spirit  of  some  brighter  sphere,  which  had 
consented  awhile  to  walk  upon  this  earth  with  Mon- 
sieur Q . It  was,  however,  the  wife  of  Monsieur 

0 , another  member  of  this  chamber. — One  es- 

sential difference,  you  may  remark,  between  Numa 

Pompilius  and  Deputy  Q is,  that  the  one  met  ladies 

in  the  woods,  for  the  making  of  laws — and  the  other, 

for  the  breaking  of  them.  Monsieur  0 , informed 

of  the  fact,  took  a signal  revenge  upon  the  seducer 


PLACE  DE  LA  REVOLUTION. 


187 


of  his  wife.  And  what  do  you  think  it  was? — He 
called  him  out,  to  be  sure,  and  blew  out  his  brains. 
Not  a bit  of  it. — He  waylaid  him  then  and  despatched 
him  secretly?  Much  less.  I will  tell  you  what  he 

did.  He  took  Monsieur  Q ’s  wife  in  exchange. — 

In  telling  this  tale,  which  I had  on  pretty  good 
authority,  I do  not  mean  to  say — Heaven  preserve 
me — that  there  are  not  honest  wives  in  Paris. 

“ II  en  est  jusqu’a  trois  que  je  pourrais  nommcr.” 

I have  now  before  me,  one  of  the  most  execrable 
spots  upon  this  earth; — a damned  spot,’^  which  all 
the  perfumes  of  Arabia  cannot  sweeten — the  “ Place 
de  la  Revolution’^^ — where  the  Queen  of  France 
suffered  death  with  her  husband,  to  propitiate  the 
horrible  Republic.  I saw  once  my  mother  in  agitation, 
upon  reading  a newspaper — sobbing,  and  even  weep- 
ing aloud; — she  read  (and  set  me  to  weeping  too,) 
the  account  of  this  execution  of  the  Queen.  It  is  the 
farthest  remembrance  of  my  life,  and  I am  now  stand- 
ing on  the  spot — on  the  very  spot  on  which  this  deed 
was  perpetrated — which  made  women  weep  in  their 
huts  beyond  the  Alleghany!  With  the  manifold 
faults  of  this  Queen,  one  cannot  at  the  age  of  sober 
reason,  look  upon  the  place  of  her  execution,  and 
think  over  her  hapless  fate,  Avithout  feeling  all  that  one 
has  of  human  nature  melting  into  compassion.  She 
was  a woman  whom  any  thing  of  a gentleman  Avould 
love  with  all  her  faults.  Moreover,  no  one  expects 
queens  in  the  intoxication  of  their  fortunes,  to  behave 
like  sober  people.  Not  even  the  sound  and  temperate 


* It  is  called  also  the  Place  de  la  Concord,  and  the  Place  Louis  XV. 


188 


FINE  VIEW  OP  PARIS. 


head  of  Caesar  preserved  its  prudence  in  this  kind  of 
prosperity.  The  Guillotine  was  erected  permanently 
on  the  centre  of  this  Place,  and  was  fed  with  cart 
loads  at  a time.  The  most  illustrious  of  its  victims, 
were  the  Queen,  Louis  XVI,  his  sister  Mademoiselle 
Elizabeth,  and  the  father  of  the  present  king.  The 
grass  does  not  grow  upon  the  guilty  place,  and  the 
Seine  flows  quickly  by  it. 

If  you  wish  to  have  the  finest  view  of  all  Paris — 
the  finest  perhaps  of  all  Europe,  of  a similar  kind — 
you  must  stand  upon  the  centre  of  this  place;  and 
you  must  hurry,  as  the  Obelisk  of  Luxor  has  just 
arrived  from  Egypt,  and  will  occupy  it  shortly.  To- 
wards the  east,  you  have  spread  oat  before  you  the 
gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  bordered  by  the  noble  colon- 
nade of  the  Rue  Rivoli  and  the  Seine; — towards  the 
west  the  Champs  Elysees,  and  the  broad  walk  leading 
gently  up  to  Napoleon’s  arch,  which  stands  proudly 
on  the  summit,  and  helps  the  ambitious  hill  the 
heavens  to  scale.”  On  the  north,  you  have  in  full 
view,  through  the  Rue  Royale,  the  superb  Madelaine, 
on  the  side  of  its  most  brilliant  sculpture;  and  in  sym- 
metry with  it,  the  noble  front  of  the  Palais  Bourbon 
on  the  south.  On  fine  evenings,  and  days  of  pa- 
rade, you  will  see  from  the  Arch  to  the  Palace,  about 
two  miles,  a moving  column  of  human  beings  upon 
the  side  walks;  and  innumerable  equipages,  with 
horses  proud  of  their  trappings,  and  laqueys  of  their 
feathers,  meeting  and  crossing  each  other  upon  the 
intervening  roads;  and  upon  the  area  of  the  Tuileries, 
all  that  Avhich  animated  life  has  most  amiable  and 
beautiful.  You  will  see,  amidst  the  parterres  of  flow- 
ers, and  groups  of  oranges,  and  its  marble  divinities, 


OBELISK  OF  LUXOR. 


189 


swans  swimming  upon  the  silvery  lakes;  multitudes 
of  children  at  their  sports,  and  every  where  ladies 
and  their  cavaliers,  in  all  the  colors  of  the  toilette,  sit- 
ting or  standing,  or  sauntering  about,  and  appearing 
through  the  trees,  upon  the  distant  terraces,  as  if 
walking  upon  the  air.  All  this  will  present  you  a 
rich  and  variegated  tableau,  of  which  prose  like  mine 
can  give  you  no  reasonable  perception. 

The  great  obelisk,  which  is  to  stand  here,  is  now 
lying  upon  the  adjacent  wharf.  It  is  72  feet  high, 
and  is  to  be  raised  higher,  by  a pedestal  of  20  feet. 
It  is  a single  block  of  granite,  with  four  faces,  and 
each  face  has  almost  an  equal  share  of  the  magnifi- 
cent prospect  I have  just  tried  to  describe.  It  tapers 
towards  the  top,  and  its  sides,  older  than  the  alphabet, 
are  embossed  with  a variety  of  curious  images.  Birds 
are  singing,  rustics  laboring,  or  playing  on  their  pipes, 
sheep  are  bleating,  and  lambs  skipping.  A slave  is 
on  his  knees,  and  a Theban  gentleman  recumbent  in 
his  fauteuil;  and  one  is  at  his  wine — he  who  ^^hob-a- 
nobbed  with  Pharoah,  glass  to  glass,  3,000  years  ago.’’ 
— The  men  are  in  caps,  a third  their  size;  and  the 
women  in  low  hoods,  like  a chancellor’s  wig.  Little 
did  the  miner  think,  who  dug  it  from  the  quarry, 
little  did  the  sculptor  think,  as  he  carved  these  images 
on  it,  and  how  little  did  Sesostris  think,  in  reading 
over  his  history  of  Paris,  that  it  would,  one  day, 
make  the  tour  of  Europe,  and  establish  itself  here  in 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  An  expensive  and  weari- 
some journey  it  has  had  of  it.  It  is  nine  years  since 
it  stepped  from  its  pedestal  at  Luxor.  It  was  a good 
notion  of  Charles  X,  but  not  original.  The  Emperor 
Constantins  brought  one,  the  largest  ever  known, 


190 


ANCIENT  REGALIA. 


(150  feet  high,)  to  Rome.  Two  magnificent  ones, 
set  up  by  the  Doge  Ziani,  adorn  the  Piazzetta  of  St. 
Marks,  brought  from  some  island  of  the  Archipelago. 
The  French  army,  captured  at  Alexandria  in  1801, 
had  two  young  ones  on  their  way  to  Paris,  Avhich 
fell,  poor  things!  into  the  rapacious  hands  of  the  Bri- 
tish Museum.  And  now  the  English,  jealous  of  this 
Luxorique  magnificence,  are  going  to  bring  over 
Cleopatra’s  needle,  to  be  up  with  them ; and  we  are 
going  to  put  something  in  our  Washington  Square; 
and  then  the  French,  some  of  these  days,  will  bring 
over  the  Pyramids. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Royale  you  will  see  two 
palaces,  one  the  depot  of  fine  furniture  and  jewels, 
the  other  of  the  armor  of  the  crown.  Here  are  shields 
that  were  burnished  for  Cressy  and  Agincourt.  Here 
is  the  armor  of  Francis  when  made  prisoner  at  Pavia, 
of  Henry  when  mortally  wounded  by  Montgomery; 
complete  sets  of  armor  of  Godfrey  de  Bouillon  and 
Joan  of  Arc,  the  sword  of  king  Cassimer,  and  that  of 
the  holy  father  Paul  V.  Spiders  are  now  weaving 
their  webs  in  casques  that  went  to  Jerusalem.  The 
diamonds  of  the  crown  deposited  here  before  the  Revo- 
lution in  rubies,  topaz,  emeralds,  sapphires,  amethysts, 
&c.,  were  7432  in  number,  amongst  which  were  the 
famous  jewels  called  the  Sand  and  the  Regent  so 
notorious  in  the  history  of  jewels;  the  latter  has  figured 
about  the  world  in  the  king’s  hats,  and  Napoleon’s 
sword.  An  antiquarian  would  find  extreme  delight 
in  this  room;  as  for  me  I scarce  know  which  is  Mam- 
brino’s  helmet  and  which  the  barber’s  basin. 

I had  no  sooner  quit  the  deputies  than  I found  my- 
self under  the  great  Hospital  of  the  Invalids,  whose 


HOSPITAL  OF  THE  INVALIDS. 


191 


lofty  and  gilded  dome  was  blazing  in  the  setting  sun. 
Napoleon  put  up  this  gilding  to  amuse  gossiping  Paris 
in  his  Russian  defeats,  as  Alcibiades  to  divert  Athens 
from  his  worse  tricks  cut  off  his  dog’s  tail;  and  as 
Miss  Kitty  to  withdraw  a more  dangerous  weapon  from 
her  baby’s  hand,  gives  it  a rattle.  3,800  soldiers  are 
now  lodged  in  this  Hospital,  or  rather  pieces  of  soldiers; 
for  one  has  an  arm  at  Moscow,  another  a leg  at  Al- 
giers^ needing  no  nourishment  from  the  state.  Here 
is  one  whose  lower  limbs  were  both  lost  at  the  taking 
of  Paris.  He  seems  very  happy.  He  saves  the  shoe- 
maker’s, hosier’s,  and  half  the  tailor’s  bill.  He  is  fat 
too,  and  healthy,  for  he  has  the  same  rations  as  if  he 
were  all  there.  If  I were  expert  at  logic,  I would 
prove  to  you  that  this  piece  of  an  individual  rnight 
partly  eat  himself  up;  his  legs  being  buried  in  the 
suburbs,  and  he  dining  on  the  potatoes  which  grow 
there ; and  I could  prove,  if  I was  put  to  it,  that  with 
a proper  assistance  from  cork,  he  might  be  running 
about  town  with  his  legs  in  his  cheeks.  There  are 
two  sorts  of  historians,  one  confining  itself  to  a simple 
narrative  of  facts  and  descriptions;  the  other  searching 
after  causes  and  effects,  and  accompanying  the  narra- 
tive with  moral  reflections.  I belong  to  the  latter  class. 
This  Hospital  was  planned  by  the  great  Henry;  the 
great  Louis  built  it,  and  it  was  furnished  with  lodgers 
by  the  great  Napoleon.  It  has  all  the  air  of  a Hos- 
pital; long  ranges  of  rooms  and  chilling  corridors;  and 
this  reunion  of  mutilated  beings  is  a horrid  spectacle! 
They  lead  a kind  of  inactive,  lounging,  alms-house 
existence.  How  much  better  had  the  munificence  of 
government  given  to  each  his  allowance,  with  the 
privilege  of  remaining  with  his  friends  and  relations, 


192 


THE  CHAMP  DE  MARS. 


than  to  be  thus  cut  off  from  all  the  charities  and  con- 
solations of  domestic  life,  and  without  the  last,  best 
consolation  of  afflicted  humanity,  a woman.  The 
dome  is  magnificent  with  paintings,  gildings,  carvings 
and  such  like  decorations.  The  chapel,  the  most 
splendid  part,  is  tapestried  with  flags  taken  in  war 
from  the  enemy.  What  an  emblem  in  a Christian 
church ! There  are  several  hundreds  yet  remaining, 
notwithstanding  the  great  numbers  burnt,  to  save 
them  from  their  owners,  the  allies.  There  are  some 
here  from  all  countries,^^  said  my  guide,  growing  a 
foot  taller.  Those  are  from  Africa;  those  from  Bel- 
gium; and  those  three  from  England.^’  When  I asked 
him  to  show  me  those  from  America,  he  replied  with 
a shrug — cela  viendra,  monsieur P 

The  immense  plain  to  the  west  of  the  Invalids  and 
in  front  of  the  Ecole  Militaire^  is  the  Champ  de 
Marsj  the  rendezvous  of  horses  fleet  in  the  race,  and 
cavalry  to  be  trained  for  the  battle.  I am  quite  vexed 
that  I have  not  space  to  tell  you  of  the  great  Revolu- 
tionary fete  which  was  once  celebrated  in  this  very 
place;  how  the  ladies  of  the  first  rank  volunteered 
and  worked  with  their  own  dear  little  hands  to  put 
up  the  scaffolding;  and  how  the  king  was  brought  out 
here  with  his  white  and  venerable  locks  and  air  of  a 
martyr,  and  the  queen  her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping; 
their  last  appearance  but  one ! before  the  people.  And 
it  would  be  very  gratifying  to  take  a look  at  that  good 
old  Revolutionary  patriarch,  Talleyrand.  How  he 
officiated  at  the  immense  ceremony,  at  the  head  of 
two  hundred  priests  all  habited  in  immaculate  white 
surplices,  and  all  adorned  with  tri-colored  scarfs,  and 
then  how  the  holy  man  blessed  the  new  standards  of 


THE  CHOLERA. 


193 


France,  and  consecrated  the  eighty-three  banners  of 
the  Departments.  I wish  to  write  all  this,  but  winged 
time  will  not  wait  upon  my  desires;  besides,  this  letter 
is  already  the  longest  that  was  ever  written  except 
Paul’s  to  the  Romans;  it  has  as  many  curiosities,  too, 
as  the  shield  of  Achilles.  The  bridge  just  opposite  is 
the  Pont  de  Jena,  The  allies  were  about  to  destroy 
it  on  account  of  its  name,  and  put  gunpowder  under 
it,  but  Louis  XVIII  would  not  allow  it.  Le  jour  oic 
V071S  ferez  sauter  le  Pont  de  Jena,  je  me  mette  des- 
sits!  and  Blucher  was  moved.  This  bridge  is  the  end 
of  my  letter  and  journey;  Jinis  chartseque  viasque. 
The  cholera,  the  Devil  take  it,  has  got  into  Italy, 
and  I shall  perhaps  lose  altogether  the  opportunity  of 
a visit  to  that  country.  I shall  not  kiss  the  feet  of  his 
Holiness,  nor  see  the  Rialto,  or  the  Bridge  of  Sighs; 
nor  Venice  and  her  gondolas,  nor  look  upon  the  vene- 
rable Palace  of  her  Doges.  Alas,  I shall  not  linger 
at  Virgil’s  tomb!  nor  swim  in  the  Tiber,  nor  taste  one 
drop  of  thy  pure  fountain,  Egeria!  nor  thine,  Fons 
Blandusix  splendidior  vitero. 


VoL.  I.— 17 


194 


FAUBOURG  ST.  GERMAIN. 


LETTER  X. 

Faubourg  St.  Germain — Quartier  Latin— The  Book-stalls— Phrenolo- 
gists— Dupuytren’s  Room— Medical  Students — Lodgings — Bill  at 
the  Sorbonne — French  Cookery — A Gentleman’s  Boarding-house 
—The  Locomotive  Cook— Fruit— The  Pension— The  Landlady — 
Pleasure  in  being  duped — Smile  of  a French  Landlady — The  Board- 
ing-house— Amiable  Ladies — The  Luxembourg  Gardens — The 
Grisettes — Their  naivete  and  simplicity — Americans  sent  to  Paris 
— Parisian  Morals — Advantages  in  visiting  Old  Countries-^ Ame- 
rican Society  in  Paris. 

Paris,  November  24th,  1835. 

Nearly  all  who  love  to  woo  the  silent  muses  are 
assembled  in  this  region  the  Faubourg  St,  Germain, 
Here  are  the  libraries  bending  under  their  ponderous 
loads,  and  here  are  the  schools  and  colleges,  and  all 
the  establishments  devoted  to  science  and  letters;  for 
which  reason  no  doubt  it  is  dignified  by  the  name  of 
the  Quartier  Latin,  When  the  west  of  the  river 
was  yet  overspread  with  its  forests,  this  quarter  was 
covered  Avith  houses  and  adorned  with  a palace  and 
amphitheatre,  baths,  an  aqueduct,  and  a Field  of 
Mars”  for  the  parade  of  the  Roman  troops — where 
Julius  Caesar  used  to  make  them  shoulder  their  fire- 
locks. But  now,  though  it  contains  a fourth  of  the 
population  of  the  town,  and  retains  its  literary  cha- 
racter, so  far  has  luxury  got  ahead  of  Philosophy,  it  ' 
has  no  greater  dignity  of  name  than  the  Faubourgs,^^ 

It  stands  apart  as  if  the  city  of  some  other  people. 
Some  few  indeed  from  the  fashionable  districts,  in  a 


THE  BOOKSHOP. 


195 


desperate  Captain  Ross  kind  of  expedition,  do  some- 
times come  over  here,  and  have  got  back  safe,  but 
having  found  nothing  but  books  and  such  things  of 
little  interest,  it  remains  unexplored.  The  population 
has  become  new,  by  retaining  its  old  customs.  By 
standing  still  it  shows  the  march  of  intellect’^ 
through  the  rest  of  the  city.  Here  you  see  yet  that 
venerable  old  man  who  wears  a cue  and  powder, 
and  buckles  his  shoes,  and  calls  his  shop  a boutique; 
who  garters  up  his  stockings  over  his  knees,  goes  to 
bed  at  eight,  and  snuffs  the  candle  with  his  fingers; 
and  you  see  every  where  the  innumerable  people, 
clattering  through  the  muddy  and  narrow  lanes  in 
their  sabots.  Poverty  not  being  able  to  get  lodgings 
in  the  Rue  Rivoli,  the  Palais  Royal,  and,  though  she 
tried  hard,  in  the  Boulevards,  has  been  obliged,  on 
account  of  the  cheap  rents,  to  come  over  here  and  to 
strike  up  a sort  of  partnership  with  science,  and  they 
now  carry  on  various  kinds  of  industry,  under  the 
firm  of  Mistre  et  Cornpagnie. 

In  the  central  section  of  this  Latin  country,  the 
staple  is  the  bookshop.  Every  where  you  will  see 
the  little  store  embossed  with  its  innumerable  vo- 
lumes inside  out,  on  the  ceilings,  on  the  floor,  and  on 
the  screens  throughout  the  room,  leaving  just  a space 
for  a little  bookseller;  and  stalls  are  covered  with  the 
same  article  in  the  open  air,  in  all  those  positions, 
where,  in  other  towns,  you  find  mutton  and  fat  beef. 
When  you  see  a long  file  of  Institutes,  and  Bartholos, 
and  Cujasses  wrapped  in  their  yellow  parchment, 
you  are  near  the  Temple  of  Themis — the  Ecole  des 
Lois,  When  you  see  in  descending  St.  Jaques,  a 
morose,  surly,  bibliomaniacal  little  man,  entrenched 


196 


ANATOMICAL  APPEARANCES. 


behind  a Homer,  a Horace,  and  a Euclid’s  Elements, 
that  is  the  College  de  France;  and  when  you  stumble 
over  a pile  of  the  Martyrs.,  it  is  the  Sor bonne;  as 
you  approach  the  Ecole  M^decine^  five  hundred  Bi- 
chats, and  Richerands,  beckon  you  to  its  threshold. 
Besides,  you  will  see  ladies  and  gentlemen  looking 
out  from  the  neighboring  windows,  and  recommend- 
ing themselves  in  their  various  anatomical  appear- 
ances; en  squellette^oY  half  dissected,  or  turned  wrong 
side  out.  There  is  a shop,  too,  of  phrenological  skulls, 
and  a lady  who  will  explain  you  the  bumps;  and  if 
you  like,  you  can  get  yourself  felt  for  a franc  or  two, 
and  she  will  tell  you  where  is  your  Pfiilo-pro — what 
do  you  call  it?  She  told  me  our  intellectual  qualities 
were  placed  in  front,  and  the  sensual  in  the  back  part 
of  the  skull,  very  happily,  because  the  former  could 
look  out  ahead,  and  keep  the  latter  in  order.  And  next 
door  is  a shop  of  all  the  wax  preparations  of  human 
forms,  and  diseases,  and  here  is  another  lady  who  will 
point  you  out  their  resemblances  with  originals,  who 
will  analyse  you  a man  into  all  his  component  parts, 
and  put  him  up  again;  and  she  puts  up,  also,  magni- 
ficent skeletons,”  and  mannikins  for  foreign  countries. 
Now  and  then  you  will  see  arrive  a cart,  which  pours 
out  a dozen  or  so  of  naked  men  and  women,  as  you  do 
a cord  of  wood,  upon  the  pavement,  which  are  distri- 
buted into  the  dissecting  rooms;  after  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  standing  about  have  sufficiently  entertained 
themselves  with  the  spectacle.  And  just  step  into 
Dupuytren’s  Room,”  and  you  will  see  all  the  human 
diseases,  arranged  beautifully  in  families;  here  is  the 
plague,  and  there  is  the  cholera  morbus;  here  is  the 
gout,  and  there  is  the  palsy  staring  you  in  the  face ; 


THE  CAF6  AU  LAIT. 


197 


and  there  are  whole  cabinets  of  sprained  ankles,  bro- 
ken legs,  dislocated  shoulders,  and  cracked  skulls.  In 
a word,  every  thing  is  literary  in  this  quarter.  One 
evening  you  are  invited  to  a party  for  squaring  the 
circle,  another  for  finding  out  the  longitude;  and 
another;  My  dear  sir,  come  this  evening,  we  have 
just  got  in  a subject.  The  autopsis  will  begin  at  six.’’ 

The  medical  students  are  about  four  thousand; 
those  of  law  and  theology  about  the  same  number; 
and  many  a one  of  these  students  lodges,  eats  and 
clothes  himself,  and  keeps  his  sweetheart  all  for  tweh^'e 
dollars  per  month.  With  the  exception  of  the  last 
named  article,  I am  living  a kind  of  student’s  life.  I 
have  a room  twenty  feet  square  overlooking,  from 
the  second  story,  the  beautiful  garden  of  Luxembourg, 
and  the  great  gate  opening  from  the  Rue  d’Enfer. 
This  is  my  parlor  during  the  day,  and  a cabinet  hav- 
ing a bed,  and  opening  into  it,  converts  the  two  into 
a bed-chamber  for  the  night;  and  the  price  including 
services,  is  eight  dollars  per  month.  I find  at  ten  a 
small  table  covered  with  white  porcelain,  and  a very 
neat  little  Frenchwoman  comes  smiling  in  v/ith  a 
coffee-pot  in  one  hand  and  a pitcher  of  boiling  milk 
in  the  other,  and  pours  me  out  with  her  rosy  fingers 
a large  cup  of  the  best  caf^.  au  lait  in  the  world,  and 
sits  down  herself,  and  descants  fluently  on  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  the  capital,  and  improves  my 
facilities  in  French.  If  you  wish  bad  coffee,  it  is  not 
to  be  had  in  this  country.  The  accompaniments  are 
two  eggs,  or  some  equivalent  relish,  a piece  of  fresh 
butter,  and  a small  loaf  of  bread — all  this  for  eighteen 
sous,  (a  sous  is  a twentieth  less  than  our  cent.)  I 
dine  out  wherever  I may  chance  to  be,  and  according 

'l7^ 


198 


DINNER  AT  THE  SORBONNE. 


to  the  voracity  or  temperance  of  my  appetites,  from 
one  and  a half  to  five  francs,  at  six  o’clock.  A French 
dinner  comes  at  the  most  sociable  hour,  when  the 
cares  and  labors  of  the  day  are  past,  and  the  mind 
can  give  itself  up  entirely  to  its  enjoyments,  or  its 
repose. 

I have  dined  sometimes  at  the  illustrious  Flico- 
teau’s  on  the  Place  Sorbonne,  with  the  medical  stu- 
dents, and  have  looked  upon  the  rooms,  once  occupied 
by  J.  Jaques  Rousseau,  and  upon  the  very  dial  on 
which  he  could  not  teach  Therese,  his  grisette  wife, 
to  count  the  hours.  I have  dined,  too,  at  Viot’s,  with 
the  law  students,  and  have  taken  coffee,  with  Moliere, 
and  Fontinelle,  and  Voltaire,  at  tlie  Procope.  The 
following  is  a bill  at  the  Sorbonne. 


A service  of  Soup, 


3 Sous. 
3 
6 
6 
2 


Vegetables, 


Meat, 

Fish, 

Bread 


20 


You  have,  also,  which  serves  at  once  for  vinegar 
and  wine,  a half  bottle  of  claret,  at  six  sous;  and  a 
dessert,  a bunch  of  grapes  or  three  cherries,  for  two; 
or  of  sweetmeats,  a most  delicate  portion — one  of 
those  infinitessimals  of  a dose,  such  as  the  Homoeopa- 
thists  administer  in  desperate  cases.  Yet  this — if  a 
dish  were  only  what  it  professes  to  be  on  its  face,  the 
soup,  not  the  rinsings  of  the  dishcloth,  the  fricassee 
not  poached  upon  the  swill-tub— this  would  still  be 


fhench  cookery. 


1 


supportable — if  a macaroni  were  only  a macaroni; 
which,  in  a cheap  Paris  fare,  I understand,  is  not  to 
be  presumed.  In  sober  sadness,  this  is  very  bad. 
We  have  a right  to  expect  that  a thing  which  calls 
itself  a hare,  should  not  be  a cat.  But,  alas!  it  is  the 
end  of  all  human  refinement,  that  hypocrisy  should 
take  the  place  of  truth.  You  can  discern  no  better 
the  component  parts  of  a French  dish,  in  a French 
cookery,  than  you  can  a virtue  in  a condiment  of 

French  affability.  But . It  is  an  homage 

which  a horse’s  rump  renders  to  a beefsteak.  At 
my  last  dinner  here  I had  two  little  ribs,  held  together 
in  indissoluble  matrimony,  of  mutton.  I tried  to 
divorce  them,  but  to  no  purpose,  till  the  perspiration 
began  to  flow  abundantly.  I called  the  gargon,” 
and  exhibited  to  him  their  toughness. — Cepeiidaiifj 
Monsieur^  le  rnouton  etait  nianiJiqueP’^  I offered 
him  five  francs  if  he  would  sit  down  and  eat  it;  he 
refused.  He  had  perhaps  a mother  or  some  poor 
relation  depending  on  him;  I did  not  insist.  M. 
Flicoteau  belongs  to  the  romantic  school.  I prefer 
the  classical.  I need  hardly  say  that  the  French  stu- 
dents, who  dine  here,  have  an  unhealthy,  and  shrivel- 
led appearance — you  recollect  the  last  run  of  the  shad 
on  the  Juniatta.  It  is  the  very  spot  in  Avhich  the 
Sorbonne  used  to  starve  its  monks  for  the  sake  of 
the  Lord,  and  M.  Flicoteau,  for  his  own  sake,  keeps 
starving  people  here  ever  since?  Sixteen  sous  is  a 
student’s  ordinary  dinner.  His  common  allowance 
for  clothing,  and  other  expenses  by  the  year,  is  three 
hundred  dollars.  He  eats  for  a hundred,  lodges  for 
fifty,  and  has  the  remainder  for  his  wardrobe,  and 
amusements.  The  students  of  medicine  are  mostly 


200 


THE  GARGOTTE. 


poor  and  laborious,  and  being  obliged  to  follow  their 
filthy  occupation  of  dissecting,  are  negligent  of  dress 
and  manners.  The  disciples  of  the  law  are  more  of 
the  rich  classes,  have  idle  time,  keep  better  company, 
and  have  an  air  plus  distinguL  The  doctors  of 
law  in  all  countries  take  rank  above  medicine.  The 
question  of  precedence,  I recollect,  was  determined 
by  the  Duke  of  Mantua’s  fool,  who  observed  that  the 
rogue  always  walks  ahead  of  the  executioner.” — 
Theology,  alas!  hides  her  head  in  a peaceful  corner 
of  the  Sorbonne,  where  once  she  domineered,  and 
begs  to  be  unnoticed  in  her  humble  and  abject  for- 
tunes. A student  of  Divinity  eats  a soup  maigre^  a 
riz-au4aitj  flanked  by  a dessert  of  sour  grapes.  His 
meals  would  take  him  to  Heaven  if  he  had  no  other 
merits. 

The  other  resorts  of  eating,  besides  the  restaurants, 
are  as  folloAvs:  the  Gargotte,\hQ  Cuisine  Bourgeoises 
and,  of  a higher  grade,  the  Pension  Bourgeoise. 
In  the  Gargotte  you  don’t  get  partridges. — Your  din- 
ner costs  seven  sous.  You  have  a little  meat,  dry 
and  somewhat  stringy,  veal  or  mutton,  whichever 
Monsieur  pleases. — Whether  it  died  the  natural  way, 
or  a violent  death  by  the  hands  of  the  butcher,  it  is 
impossible  to  know.  You  have,  besides,  a thick 
soup,  a loaf  of  bread  three  feet  long,  standing  in 
the  corner  by  the  broom,  and  fried  potatoes;  also, 
water  and  the  servant  girl  d discretion.  At  seventeen 
sous,  you  have  all  the  aforesaid  delicacies,  with  a 
table  cloth  into  the  bargain;  and  at  twenty,  the  luxu- 
rious addition  of  a napkin,  and  a fork  of  Algiers 
metal. — This  is  the  Gargotte.  When  you  have  got 
to  twenty-five  sous,  you  are  in  the  Cuisine  Bourgeoise. 


RESOllTS  OF  EATING. 


201 


Here  your  convert^’  consists  of  a spoon,  a fork,  a 
knife,  a napkin,  a glass,  and  a small  bottle,  called  a 
caraffon;  your  plate  is  changed — already  a step  to- 
wards civilisation;  and  you  have  a cucumber  a foot 
long,  radishes  a little  withered,  asparagus  just  getting 
to  seed,  and  salt  and  pepper,  artistly  arranged;  and 
a horse’s  rump  cooked  into  a beefsteak,  and  washed 
down  with  veritable  macon^^ — that  is,  the  best  sort 
of  logwood  alcoholised.  You  have,  also,  a little 
dessert  here  of  sour  grapes,  wrinkled  apricots,  or  green 
figs,  which  are  exhibited  for  sale,  at  the  window, 
between  meals.  The 'flaps  of  mutton  and  the  drum- 
sticks of  turkeys,  which  you  get  so  tender,  have  been 
served  up,  once  or  twice,  at  the  Hotel  Ordinary;  but 
they  are  preferred  much  to  the  original  dishes.  One 
likes  sometimes  better  Ephraim’s  gleanings,  than  Abi- 
ezier’s  vintage.  The  French  have  a knack  of  letting 
nothing  go  to  loss.  Why  they  make  more  of  a dead 
horse  or  cow  than  others  of  the  living  ones.  They 
do  not  even  waste  the  putrid  offals  of  the  butcheries; 
they  sell  the  maggots  to  feed  chickens. — But  when 
you  pay  forty  sous,  that’s  quite  another  affair.  You 
are  now  ip  the  monde  gourmnnde,  Spinage  has 
butter  in  it;  custards  have  sugar  in  them;  soup  is 
called  potage\ — every  thing  now  has  an  honest  name; 
bouilli  is  hoeuf  a la  mode\  fried  potatoes,  pomme 
de  terre  la  maitre  hotel;  and  a baked  cat  is, 
lapin  saute  a Vestragon, — This  is  the  gentleman’s 
boarding  house.  I mean  by  gentleman,  a youth, 
who  has  just  come  over  from  England  or  America, 
to  the  lectures,  or  a French  clerk  of  the  corps  bureau- 
cratique,  or  an  apprentice  philosopher,  who  calls  him- 
self a ^^man  of  letters.”  It  is  one  of  the  advantages 


202 


SUCCESSION  OF  DISHES. 


of  this  place,  that  you  are  not  often  oppressed  by 
the  intelligence  and  gravity  of  your  convives,  and 
have  a chance  of  shining.  It  is  in  the  power  of  any 
man  to  have  wit,  if  he  but  knows  how  to  select  his 
company.  In  this  pension  the  dishes  succeed  one 
another,  and  are  not  crammed,  as  in  our  tables  roti 
fricandeaii^  salade^  vol  au  vent — all  into  the  same 
service,  to  distract  and  pall  the  appetite,  or  get  cold 
waiting  on  each  other.  The  coquetry  of  a French 
kitchen  keeps  alive  expectation,  and  enhances  enjoy- 
ment by  surprise.  You  have  here,  too,  the  advantage 
of  a male  cook;  the  kitchen  prefers  the  masculine  to 
the  feminine,  like  the  grammars;  and,  besides,  you 
have  the  tranquillity  of  a private  house.  If  you  ask 
a dish  at  Flicoteau’s,  the  waiter  bawls  it  down  to  the 
kitchen,  and  as  they  are  continually  asking  he  is  con- 
tinually bawling.  At  the  end  of  the  feast,  you  will 
see,  standing  before  you,  a tumbler  full  of  tooth 
picks,  one  of  which  you  will  keep  fumbling  in  your 
mouth,  the  whole  afternoon,  as  an  evidence  you  have 
dined,  and  especially  if  you  have  not  dined — for 
then  you  must  keep  up  appearances; — some  grease 
their  mouths  with  a candle,  and  then  yoq  think  they 
have  been  eating  de  foU  gras. 

I am  sorry  to  have  forgotten  the  locomotive  cook: 
I mean  a woman  with  an  appareil  de  cuisine  about 
her  neck,  having  meat  and  fish  hung,  by  hooks,  on 
both  her  haunches,  and  sausages,  or  fish,  or  potatoes 
hissing  in  a frying  pan;  and  diffusing,  for  twenty 
yards  around,  a most  appetising  flavor. — She  haunts 
usually  the  Pont  Neuf,  and  its  vicinity,  and  looks  like 
gastronomy  personified.  She  will  give  you  for  four 
sous,  of  potatoes,  with  yesterday’s  gazette,  and  reclin- 


PRICE  OF  PROVISIONS. 


203 


ing  under  the  parapet  of  the  Qaai — the  king,  perhaps, 
all  the  while,  envying  you  from  the  heights  of  the 
Louvre — you  eat  a wholesomer  dinner  at  ten  sous, 
than  the  Place  Sorbonne  at  twenty-four. 

All  the  common  world  of  Paris  buys  its  provisions 
second  handed.  The  farmer  arrives  about  two  in  the 
morning — he  sells  out  to  the  hucksters,  and  these  latter 
to  the  public:  mixing  in  the  leavings  of  the  preceding 
day,  a rotten  egg  with  a fresh  one,  &c.  A patient 
old  woman,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  speculates  over 
a bushel  of  potatoes,  or  a botle  of  onions,  twice  twenty- 
four  hours;  and  your  milkwoman,  perhaps,  never  saw 
a cow;  cows  are  expensive  in  slops  and  provender; 
and  snails  and  plaster  of  Paris  almost  for  nothing. 
The  French  eat  greater  quantities  of  bread  than  their 
neighbors — and  why  at  a cheaper  rate? — The  price 
is  fixed,  by  police,  every  fortnight,  and  its  average  is 
two  and  a half  cents — sixty  per  cent,  lower  than  in 
London;  and  how  much  lower  than  with  us?  450 
millions  of  lbs.  are  consumed  in  Paris  annually;  each 
man  eating  twelve  dollars  worth.  If  you  establish  a 
Frenchman’s  expense  at  a 100,  you  will  find  19  parts 
for  bread,  22  for  meat,  27  for  wine  and  spirits.  Peaches 
and  apples,  and  melons  are  not  to  be  spoken  of,  in 
comparison  with  ours;  but  cherries,  plums,  and  espe- 
cially pears,  are  in  great  variety  and  abundance;  and 
the  fine  grapes  of  Fontainbleau  are  eight  cents  per 
pound.  In  England,  they  have  all  the  fruits  of  the 
Indies  in  the  noblemen’s  hot  houses;  but  who  can  buy 
them?  There  are  men  there  who  have  the  conscience 
to  pay  £150  for  the  fruits  of  a breakfast.  “ The  straw- 
berries at  my  Lady  Stormont’s,  last  Saturday,  cost 


204 


SOLITUDE  OF  A POPULOUS  CITY. 


says  Hannah  More.  But  I must  bridle  in 
my  muse:  she  is  getting  a fit  of  statistics. 

If  a gentleman  comes  to  Paris  in  the  dog  days,  when 
his  countrymen  are  spread  over  Europe,  at  watering 
places,  and  elsewhere,  and  when  every  soul  of  a 
French  man  is  out  of  town — if  he  is  used  to  love  his 
friends  at  home,  and  be  loved  by  them,  and  to  see 
them  gather  around  him  in  the  evenings — let  him  not 
set  a foot  in  that  unnatural  thing,  a bachelor’s  apart- 
ment in  a furnished  hotel,  to  live  alone,  to  eat  alone, 
and  to  sleep  alone!  If  he  does,  lei  him  take  leave  of 
his  wife  and  children  and  settle  up  his  affairs.  Nor 
let  him  seek  company  at  the  Tavern  Ordinary;  here 
the  guest  arrives  just  at  the  hour,  hangs  up  his  hat, 
sits  down  in  his  usual  place,  crosses  his  legs,  runs  his 
fingers  through  his  hair,  dines,  and  then  disappears, 
all  the  year  round,  without  farther  acquaintance.  But 
let  him  look  out  a Pension,”  having  an  amiable 
landlady,  or,  which  is  the  same,  amiable  lodgers.  He 
will  become  domiciliated  here  after  some  time,  and 
find  some  relief  from  one  of  the  trying  situations  of 
life.  You  know  nothing  yet,  happily,  of  the  solitude, 
the  desolation  of  a populous  city  to  a stranger.  How 
often  did  I wish,  during  the  first  three  months,  for  a 
cot  by  the  side  of  some  hoar  hill  of  the  Mahonoy.  Go 
to  a Pension,”  especially  if  you  are  a sucking  child, 
like  me,  in  the  ways  of  the  world;  and  the  lady  of  the 
house,  usually  a pretty  woman,  will  feel  it  enjoined 
upon  her  humanity  to  counsel  and  protect  you,  and 
comfort  you,  or  she  will  manage  an  acquaintance 
between  you  and  some  countess  or  baroness,  who 
lodges  with  her,  or  at  some  neighbor’s.  I live  now 


FAMILY  REUNIONS. 


205 


with  a most  spiritual  little  creature;  she  tells  me  so 
many  obliging  lies,  and  no  offensive  truths,  which  I 
take  to  be  the  perfection  of  politeness  in  a landlady; 
and  she  admits  me  to  her  private  parties — little  family 
reunions’^ — where  I play  at  loto  with  Madame 
Thomas,  and  her  three  amiable  daughters,  just  for  a 
little  cider,  or  cakes,  or  chestnuts,  to  keep  up  the  spirit 
of  the  play;  and  then  we  have  a song,  a solo  on 
the  violin,  or  harp,  and  then  a dance;  and  finally,  we 
play  at  little  games,  which  inflict  kisses,  embraces,  and 
other  such  penalties.  French  people  are  always  so 
merry,  whatever  be  the  amusement;  they  never  let 
conversation  flag,  and  I donh  see  any  reason  it  should. 
One,  for  example,  begins  to  talk  of  Paris,  then  the 
Passage  Panorama,  then  of  Mrs.  Alexander's  fine 
cakes,  and  then  the  pretty  girl  that  sits  behind  the 
counter,  and  then  of  pretty  girls  that  sit  any  where; 
and  so  one  just  lets  oneself  run  with  the  association 
of  ideas,  or  one  makes  a digression  from  the  main 
story,  and  returns  or  not,  just  as  one  pleases.  A 
Frenchman  is  always  a mimic,  an  actor,  and  all  that 
nonsense  which  we  suffer  to  go  to  waste  in  our  coun- 
try, he  economises  for  the  enjoyment  of  society. 

I am  settled  down  in  the  family;  I am  adopted; 
the  lady  gives  me  to  be  sure  now  and  then  a 
chance,’’  as  she  calls  it,  of  a ticket  in  a lottery  the 
only  one  left,”)  of  some  distinguished  lady  now  re- 
duced, or  some  lady  who  has  had  three  children,  and 
is  likely  for  the  fourth,  where  one  never  draws  any 
thing;  or  ‘^a  chance”  of  conducting  her  and  a pretty 
cousin  of  hers,  who  has  taken  a fancy  to  me,  who 
adores  the  innocency  of  American  manners,  and  hates 
the  dissipation  of  the  French,  to  the  play.  Have  you 
' VOL.  I.— IS 


206 


THE  FRENCH  LANDLADY. 


never  felt  the  pleasure  of  letting  yourself  be  duped? 
Have  you  never  felt  the  pleasure  of  letting  your  little 
bark  float  down  the  stream  when  you  knew  the  port 
lay  the  other  way?  I look  upon  all  this  as  a cheap 
return  for  the  kindnesses  I have  so  much  need  of;  I 
am  anxious  to  be  cheated,  and  the  truth  is,  if  you  do 
not  let  a French  landlady  cheat  you  now  and  then, 
she  will  drop  your  acquaintance.  Never  dispute 
any  small  items  overcharged  in  her  monthly  bill;  or 
she  that  was  smooth  as  the  ermine  will  be  suddenly 
bristled  as  the  porcupine;  and  why,  for  the  sake  of 
limiting  some  petty  encroachment  upon  your  purse, 
should  you  turn  the  bright  heaven  of  her  pretty  face 
into  a hurricane?  Your  actions  should  always  leave 
a suspicion  you  are  rich  and  then  you  are  sure  she 
will  anticipate  every  want  and  wish  you  may  have 
with  the  liveliest  afiection ; she  will  be  all  ravishment 
at  your  successes;  she  will  be  in  an  abyss  of  chagrin 
at  your  disappointments.  Helas!  oh  mon  Dieii!  and 
if  you  cry,  she  will  cry  with  you!  We  love  money 
well  enough  in  America,  but  we  do  not  feel  such 
touches  of  human  kindness,  and  cannot  work  our- 
selves up  into  such  fits  of  amiableness,  for  those  who 
have  it.  I do  not  say  it  is  hypocrisy;  a French  wo- 
man really  does  love  you  if  you  have  a long  purse; 
and  if  you  have  not,  (I  do  not  say  it  is  hypocrisy 
neither,)  she  really  does  hate  you. 

A great  advantage  to  a French  landlady  is  the 
sweetness  and  variety  of  her  smile;  a quality  in  which 
French  women  excel  universally.  Our  Madam  Gi- 
bou  keeps  her  little  artillery  at  play  during  the  whole 
of  the  dinner  time,  and  has  brought  her  smile  under 
such  a discipline  as  to  suit  it  exactly  to  the  passion  to 


MANNER  OF  GAINING  ATTENTIONS. 


207 


be  represented,  or  the  dignity  of  the  person  with 
whom  she  exchanges  looks.  You  can  tell  any  one 
who  is  in  arrears  as  if  you  were  her  private  secretary, 
or  the  wealth  and  liberality  of  a guest  better  than  his 
banker,  by  her  smile.  If  it  be  a surly  knave  who 
counts  the  pennies  with  her,  the  little  thing  is  stran- 
gled in  its  birth,  and  if  one  who  owes  his  meals,  it 
miscarries  altogether;  and  for  a mere  visiter  she  lets 
off  one  worth  only  three  francs  and  a half;  but  if  a 
favorite,  who  never  looks  into  the  particulars  of  her 
bill  and  takes  her  lottery  tickets,  then  you  will  see 
the  whole  heaven  of  her  face  in  a blaze,  and  it  does 
not  expire  suddenly,  but  like  the  fine  twilight  of  a sum- 
mer evening,  dies  away  gently  on  her  lips.  Some- 
times I have  seen  one  flash  out  like  a squib,  and  leave 
you  at  once  in  the  dark;  it  had  lit  on  the  wrong  per- 
son; and  at  other  times  I have  seen  one  struggling 
long  for  its  life;  I have  watched  it  while  it  was  gasp- 
ing its  last;  she  has  a way  too  of  knocking  a smile  on 
the  head;  I observed  one  at  dinner  to  day,  from  the 
very  height  and  bloom  of  health  fall  down  and  die 
without  a kick. 

It  is  strange  (that  I may  praise  myself) — but  I have 
a share  of  attention  in  this  little  circle  even  greater 
than  they  who  are  amiable.  If  I say  not  a word,  I 
am  witty,  and  I am  excessively  agreeable  by  sitting 
still.  The  silence  often  of  pure  innocence  persuades 
when  speaking  fails.’’  My  acquaintance  with  life 
and  wickedness  puts  me  in  immediate  rapport  with 
women,  and  removes  many  of  the  little  obstacles 
Avhich  suspicious  etiquette  has  set  up  between  the 
sexes.  Ladies,  they  say,  never  blush  when  talking 
to  a blind  man.  While  a man  of  address  is  sailing 


208 


AFFABILITY. 


about  and  about  a woman,  as  Captain  Ross  hunting 
the  Northwest  Passage,  I am  looked  upon  either  as  a 
ship  in  distress  and  claiming  a generous  sympathy 
and  protection,  or  a prize  which  belongs  to  the 
wreckers,  and  am  towed  at  once  into  harbor.  Some- 
times indeed  my  ignorance  of  Paris  and  its  ways,  is 
taken  for  affectation,  and  they  suspect  me  for  behav- 
ing as  great  ambassadors,  who  affect  simplicity  to 
hide  their  diplomatic  rogueries;  but  he  cannot  long 
pass  himself  for  a rogue,  who  is  really  honest.  It  is 
perhaps  mere  complexion  or  physiognomy.  I see, 
every  day,  faces  which  remind  one  of  those  doors 
which  have  written  on  them  No  Admission, and 
others,  “ Walk  in  without  knocking.’^  It  is  certain 
that  what  we  call  dignity,  however  admired  on  pa- 
rade, is  not  a good  social  quality.  Dignitas  et 
amor^^ — I forget  what  Ovid  says  about  it.  And 
women  too  are  more  familiar  and  easy  of  access  to 
modesty  of  rank.  Jupiter,  you  know,  when  he  made 
love  to  Antiope  with  all  his  rays  about  him,  was  re- 
jected, and  he  succeeded  afterwards  as  a satyr.  I 
knew  a pretty  American  woman  once,  who,  gartering 
up  her  stockings  in  the  garden,  was  reminded  that  the 
gardener  was  looking:  ^‘Well!  he  is  only  a working 
man,’^  she  replied,  and  went  on  with  the  exhibition; 
she  would  have  been  frightened  to  death  had  it  been 
a lord.  I make  these  remarks  because  other  travellers 
would  be  likely  to  leave  them  out,  and  because  it 
is  good  to  know  how  to  live  to  advantage  in  all  the 
various  circumstances  of  life. 

In  recommending  you  a French  boarding  house,  it 
is  my  duty  at  the  same  time  to  warn  you  of  some  of 
its  dangers,  which  are  as  follows:  Your  landlady  will 


THE  BOARDING  HOUSE. 


209 


be  in  arrears  for  her  rent  200  francs,  and  will  confide 
to  you  her  embarrassment.  Having  a rigid,  inexorable 
proprietaire^  and  getting  into  an  emergency,  she  will 
at  length  ask  you  with  many  blushes  and  amiable 
scruples  the  loan  of  the  said  money;  and  her  gratitude, 
poor  thing!  at  the  very  expectation  of  getting  it,  will 
overcome  her  so — she  will  offer  you,  her  arms  about 
your  neck,  her  pretty  self,  as  security  for  the  debt. 
This  is  not  all;  the  baroness  (her  husband  being 
absent  at  Moscow  or  any  where  else)  will  invite  you 
to  a supper.  She  will  live  in  a fine  parlor,  chambers 
adjoining,  and  will  entertain  you  with  sprightly  and 
sensible  conversation  and  all  the  delicacies  of  the  table 
until  the  stars  have  dumb  half  way  up  the  heavens; 
and  you  will  find  yourself  tete-a-tete,  with  the  lady 
at  midnight,  the  third  bottle  of  champagne  sparkling 
on  the  board.  I am  glad  1 did  not  leave  my  virtue 
in  America;  I should  have  had  such  need  of  it  in  this 
country!  Indeed  if  it  had  been  any  body  else,  not 
softened  by  the  experience  of  nine  lustrums;  not  for- 
tified like  me  by  other  affections — if  it  had  been  any 
body  else  in  the  world  he  would  have  been  ruined  by 
Madame  la  Baronne.  Nor  when  you  have  resisted 
Russia,  have  you  won  all  the  victories.  On  a fine 
summer’s  morning,  when  all  joyous  and  good-hu- 
mored, your  landlady  will  present  you  the  following 
cards,  with  notes  and  explanations.  This  is  from 
the  belle  Gabrielle.  She  assists  her  uncle  in  the  store, 
and  is  quite  disheartened  with  her  business.  Uncles  are 
such  cross  things! — This  is  from  one  of  my  acquaint- 
ances, Flora — oh,  beautiful  au  possible!  She  paints 
birds  and  other  objects  for  the  print  shops,  but  she 
finds  the  confinement  iniurious  to  her  health.  Both 
18^ 


210 


GARDEN  OF  THE  LUXEMBOURG. 


these  young  ladies  have  signified  in  great  confidence 
— I never  would  have  guessed  it! — that  they  would 
be  willing  to  form  an  intimacy  (a  liaison)  with  some 
American  gentleman,  whom  I might  recommend. 
Here  are  their  cards.  You  must  call  and  see  them, 
especially  Flora,  she  has  such  a variety  of  talents  be- 
sides painting;  and  she  will  give  you  the  most  con- 
vincing proofs  of  good  character  and  connections. 
Gabrielle  also  is  very  pretty,  but  she  is  a young  and 
innocent  creature,  and  her  education,  especially  her 
music,  not  so  far  advanced.’’ 

The  garden  of  Luxembourg  comes  next.  It  contains 
near  a hundred  acres  and  lies  in  the  midst  of  this  clas- 
sical district.  It  is  not  so  gaily  ornamented  as  the 
Tuileries,  but  is  rich  in  picturesque  and  rural  scenery. 
It  has  indeed  two  very  beautiful  ornaments.  At  the 
north  end  the  noble  edifice  constructed  by  Marie  de 
Medicis,  the  palace  of  Luxembourg,  which  contains  a 
gallery  of  paintings,  the  chamber  of  Peers,  and  other 
curiosities;  and  the  Observatory,  a stately  building,  is 
in  symmetry  with  this  palace  on  the  south.  In  the 
interior  there  are  groves  of  trees  and  grass  plots  sur- 
rounded by  flower  beds;  and  numerous  statues,  most 
of  which  have  seen  better  days;  ranges  of  trees,  and 
an  octagonal  piece  of  water  inhabited  by  two  swans, 
which  are  now  swimming  about  in  graceful  solemnity, 
adorn  the  parterre  in  front  of  the  palace.  All  these 
objects  I have  in  view  of  my  windows.  The  garden 
has  altogether  an  air  of  philosophy  very  grateful  to 
men  of  studious  dispositions.  Many  persons  are  seated 
about  in  reading  or  conversation,  or  strolling  with 
books  through  its  groves,  and  squads  of  students  are 
now  and  then  traversing  it  to  their  college  recitations. 


VETERANS  OE  THE  WAR. 


211 


On  benches  overlooking  the  parterre  is  seated  all  day 
long,  the  veteran  of  the  war,  the  old  soldier,  in  his 
regimentals,  his  sword  as  a companion  laid  beside 
him  on  the  bench;  he  finds  a repose  here  for  his  old 
age  amidst  the  recreations  of  childhood;  and  five  or 
six  hundred  little  men  in  red  breeches,  whose  pro- 
fession it  is  to  have  their  brains  knocked  out  for  their 
country  at  sixpence  a day,  are  drilled  here  every 
morning  early,  to  keep  step  and  to  handle  their  fire- 
locks. There  is  one  corner  in  which  there  is  a fountain 
surmounted  by  a nymph,  and  which  has  a gloomy 
and  tufted  wood  and  an  appearance  of  sanctity  which 
makes  it  respected  by  the  common  world,  and  by  the 
sun.  One  man  only  is  seen  walking  there  at  a time, 
the  rest  retiring  out  of  respect  for  his  devotions.  Since  a 
week  it  is  frequented  daily  by  a poet.  He  recites  with 
appropriate  action  his  verses,  heedless  of  the  profane 
crowd.  He  appears  pleased  with  his  compositions 
and  smiles  often  no  doubt  in  anticipation  of  their  im- 
mortality. I often  sit  an  hour  of  an  evening  at  my 
window,  and  look  down  upon  the  stream  of  people 
which  flows  in  and  out  and  the  sentinel  who  walks 
up  and  down  by  the  gate  ridiculously  grim.  I love 
to  read  the  views  and  dispositions  of  men  in  their  faces. 
I witness  some  pleasant  flirtations  too  under  the  adja- 
cent lime  trees,  and  many  gratified  and  disappointed 
assignations.  Now  a lady  wrapped  in  her  cloak  walks 
up  and  down  the  most  secret  avenue,  upon  the  anxious 
watch;  the  lover  comes  at  length  and  she  hastens  to 
his  embraces,  and  they  vanish;  and  next  in  his  turn  a 
gentleman  walks  sentinel,  until  his  lady  comes,  or  im- 
patient and  disappointed,  goes  off  in  a rage,  or  night 
covers  him  with  her  hoary  mantle. — Were  I not 


212 


THE  GRISSETTES. 


bound  by  so  many  endearing  affections  of  kindred  and 
friendship  to  my  native  country,  there  is  not  one  spot 
upon  the  earth  I would  prefer  to  the  sweet  tranquillity 
of  this  delicious  retirement. 

When  you  visit  the  Luxembourg  you  will  see  mul- 
titudes every  where  of  bouncing  demoiselles,  Avith 
nymph-looking  faces,  caps  without  bonnets,  and  bas- 
kets in  their  hands,  traversing  the  garden  from  all 
quarters,  running  briskly  to  their  work  in  the  morning, 
and  strolling  slowly  homewards  towards  evening — 
These  are  the  grisettes.  They  are  very  pretty  and 
have  the  laudable  little  custom  of  falling  deeply  in 
love  with  one  for  five  or  six  francs  a piece.  They 
are  common  enough  all  over  Paris,  but  in  this  classical 
region  they  are  as  the  leaves  in  Valambrossa.  They 
are  in  the  train  of  the  muses,  and  love  the  groves  of 
the  Academy.  A grisette,  in  this  Latin  Quarter,  is  a 
branch  of  education.  If  a student  is  ill  his  faithful 
grisette  nurses  him  and  cures  him;  if  he  is  destitute 
she  works  for  him;  and  if  he  falls  into  irretriev- 
able misfortune,  she  dies  with  him.  Thus  a mutual 
dependence  endears  them  to  each  other;  he  defends 
her  with  his  life,  and  sure  of  his  protection,  she  feels 
her  consequence,  and  struts  in  her  new  starched  cap 
the  reigning  monarch  of  the  Luxembourg. 

A grisette  never  obtrudes  her  acquaintance,  but 
question  her  and  you  will  find  her  circumstantially 
communicative.  Such  information  as  she  possesses, 
and  a great  deal  more,  she  will  retail  to  you  with  a 
naivete  and  simplicity,  you  would  swear  she  was 
brought  up  amongst  your  innocent  lambs  and  turtle 
doves  of  the  Shamoken.  She  is  the  most  ingenious 
imitation  of  an  innocent  woman  that  is  in  the  world; 


THEIR  INGENIOUS  ARTIFICES. 


213 


and  never  was  language  employed  more  happily  for 
the  concealment  of  thought  (I  ask  pardon  of  Prince 
Talleyrand)  than  in  the  mouth  of  a grisette.  The 
Devil  is  called  the  father  of  lies  (I  ask  pardon  again 
of  the  Prince,)  but  there  is  not  one  of  these  little  imps 
but  can  outdo  her  papa  in  this  particular.  When  sent 
with  goods  from  shop-keepers  to  their  customers — the 
common  practice  of  this  place — she  will  lie  and  wrestle 
for  her  patron  and  perjure  herself  like  a Greek;  when 
accused  she  will  listen  to  reproaches,  insults,  even 
abuse,  as  long  as  there  is  any  point  of  defence,  with 
the  resignation  of  Saint  Michael;  and  there  is  no  trick 
of  the  stage,  no  artifice  of  rhetoric  recommended  by 
Cicero  that  she  leaves  out  in  her  pleadings;  if  at  last 
overcome — why,  she  surrenders.  She  remains  awhile 
mute,  and  then  sets  herself  to  look  sorry  with  all  her 
might;  at  last  she  bursts  into  tears,  with  sobs  and  sighs 
until  she  disarms  you.  Well  let  me  see  what  you 
have  got.’^  She  will  now  wipe  away  gracefully  the 
briny  drops  with  the  corner  of  her  apron;  brighten  up 
again,  show  you  her  goods  again,  and  cheat  you  once 
more  by  way  of  reparation  for  her  former  rogueries. 

There  is  a modiste,  lodged  in  the  adjoining  room, 
of  New  Orleans,  who  entertains  about  twenty  of  these 
every  morning  at  her  levee.  I make  sometimes  one 
of  the  group,  and  from  this  opportunity  and  from  the 
lady’s  information  I am  thus  learned  about  grisettes. 

Let  us  moralise  a little  on  this  subject.  Paris  is  six 
times  more  populous  than  Philadelphia,  and,  for  the 
same  reason  that  the  black  sheep  eat  less  than  the 
white  ones,  we  are  six  times  less  vicious  than  the  Pari- 
sians. Again,  circumstances  make  the  same  things 
less  criminal  at  one  time,  and  in  one  country,  than 


214 


CONJUGAL  FIDELITY. 


another.  We  are  not  censorious  of  the  Turk  who  has 
three  wives;  we  say  it  is  the  religion  of  his  country; 
when  we  would  disown  any  one  of  our  own  citizens 
for  half  that  number;  nor  do  we  blame  very  heartily 
Solomon  for  his  excess  of  concubines,  for  we  say  it 
was  the  fashion  of  the  times;  nor  even  Adam  that  his 
daughters  married  with  their  brothers;  we  say  it  was 
a case  of  necessity.  In  Philadelphia,  every  woman 
has  before  her  the  prospect  of  a marriage,  and  she 
would  be  not  only  vicious,  but  very  imprudent  to  for- 
feit her  advantages;  necessity  will  not  stand  up  in  her 
defence.  In  Paris,  there  are  twenty  thousand,  at  least, 
of  the  sex,  who  have  not  the  faintest  hope  or  oppor- 
tunity of  marriage;  and  if  they,  sometimes,  make  the 
next  good  bargain  they  can,  and  vindicate  the  rights 
of  nature  over  imperious  circumstances,  upon  what 
propriety  is  their  offence  to  be  weighed  in  our  Ameri- 
can scale  of  religion  and  morals?  It  is  to  be  remark- 
ed, too,  that  the  debasement  of  mind,  produced  by 
any  vice,  is  influenced  materially  by  the  degree  of 
odium  and  censure  attached  to  it,  by  the  public  opin- 
ion. Concubinage,  so  intolerable  in  our  communities 
in  both  sexes,  is  here  scarce  a subject  of  remark  in 
either.  It  prejudices  no  reputation;  it  does  not  throw 
a woman  out  of  society;  she,  therefore,  cultivates 
agreeable  talents,  and  preserves  many  of  the  excel- 
lent qualities  of  a matron.  In  many  instances,  indeed, 
a Parisian  woman  is  less  corrupted,  and  much  less  ex- 
posed to  corruption  by  being  a mistress,  than  being  a 
wife.  The  ancient  Athenian  society  had  partly  the 
same  character;  /hal  produced  the  Aspasias,  the 
Phrynes  and  Sapphos,  and  l/iis  the  Ninon  dePEnclos. 

If  you  will  but  bear  in  mind,  that  I am  not  defend- 


POLICY  OP  SENDING  YOUTH  TO  PARIS. 


215 


ing  the  state  of  Paris  society,  but  showing  only  how 
far  the  faults  of  individuals,  who  do  not  create  but  are 
subject  to  its  laws,  may  be  extenuated,  I will  venture 
to  say  also,  that  the  gallantries  of  married  women  are 
much  less  pernicious,  and  much  less  wicked,  in  Paris, 
than  they  would  be  in  our  American  cities.  You  make 
your  own  marriages,  which  are  generally  well  enough 
assorted;  and  your  husbands,  for  several  obvious  rea- 
sons, are  rather  faithful;  but  in  Paris,  where  eighteen 
is  tied  to  fifty,  (the  common  condition,)  and  fifty  too 
worn  out  with  libertinism  and  debauch,  and  where  the 
husband  keeps  his  mistress  under  the  very  nose  of  his 
wife,  are  you  allowed  in  justice  to  exact  the  same  con- 
jugal faith  from  wives,  or  measure  an  act  of  infidelity, 
which  produces  no  scandal  or  ruin  of  families,  by  the 
same  standard  of  criminality  as  in  our  country?  I do 
not  mean  to  say,  by  all  this,  that  ladies  faithful  to  their 
lords  are  not  very  common  in  this  city;  they  are  cer- 
tainly not  the  less  entitled  to  praise  for  being  honest 
in  a place  where  public  opinion  does  not  deter  them 
from  being  the  contrary.  There  are  some  French 
husbands  so  amiable,  that  even  their  wives  can’t  help 
loving  them. 

It  is  important  for  one’s  mamma  to  know  whether 
it  is  a good  or  bad  fashion,  that  so  common  now-a- 
days,  of  sending  a young  gentleman,  just  stepping  from 
youth  into  manhood,  to  Europe,  especially  to  Paris. 
I will  venture  some  remarks,  for  your  information, 
though  I have  no  very  settled  opinion  on  the  subject. 
I know  several  Americans  here,  engaged  some  in 
medical  and  scientific  schools,  and  some  in  painting 
and  other  arts,  who  appear  to  me  to  be  exceedingly 
diligent,  and  to  make  as  profitable  a use  of  their  time. 


216 


AMERICANS  IN  PARIS. 


as  they  would  any  where  else.  I know  some  who 
mix  pleasure  with  business,  and  a little  folly  with  their 
wisdom;  and  some  (you  will  please  put  me  in  this 
class)  who  do  not  taste  dissipation  with  their  ^^ex- 
tremest  lips.”  But  I know  some  also,  who,  under 
pretext  of  law  and  medicines,  study  mischief  only,  and 
return  home  worse,  if  possible,  than  when  they  came 
out.  I know  one  now,  who  having  too  much  health, 
overruns  his  revenues  occasionally,  and  draws  upon 
home  for  a doctor^s  and  apothecary’s  bill;  and  another 
poor  devil,  who  has  gone  to  Mount  Piete  with  his  last 
trinket.  There  came  one  from  the  Mississippi  lately, 
who  being  very  young,  and  rich  and  unmarried,  set 
up  a kind  of  seraglio,  and  died  of  love,  yesterday;  they 
are  burying  him,  to-day,  at  Pere  la  Chaise.  I know 
one  also,  who  has  lived  here  nine  years,  who  reads 
Voltaire,  keeps  a French  cook,  and  his  principles  are 
as  French  as  his  stomach;  and  another,  who  entertains 
the  French  noblesse  with  fetes  and  soirees,  to  the  tune 
of  a hundred  thousand  per  annum— from  his  stable 
thirty-six  horses  full  bred,  better  than  many  of  his 
Majesty’s  subjects,  come  prancing  out  on  days  of 
jubilee  upon  the  Boulevards. 

If  a young  man’s  morals  should  get  out  of  order  at 
home,  Paris  is  not  exactly  the  place  I would  send  him 
to  be  cured.  It  is  true,  if  drunkenness  be  the  complaint, 
it  is  not  a vice  of  the  place ; and,  if  curable  at  all,  which 
I do  not  believe,  Paris,  from  its  common  use  of  light 
wines,  and  variety  of  amusements,  is  perhaps  the  best 
place  to  make  the  attempt.  It  is  certainly  not  the 
most  dangerous  place  of  falling  into  this  vice.  If  he 
be  fond  of  gambling,  here  it  is  a genteel  accomplish- 
ment, and  brought  out  under  the  patronage  of  the 


PARISIAN  MORALS. 


217 


government.  And  to  keep  a mistress  is  not  only  not 
disgraceful  in  French  society,  but  is  always  mentioned 
to  one’s  credit.  It  is  a part  of  a gentleman’s  equipage 
and  adds  to  his  gentility,  for  it  implies  that  he  pos- 
sesses that  most  considerable  merit,  that  a gentleman 
can  aspire  to  in  this  country,  and  most  others — money. 
‘‘II  a la  plus  jolie  maitresse  de  ParisP'^  you  cannot 
say  any  thing  more  complimentary  if  it  were  of  the 
prime  minister;  and  it  would  scarce  be  an  injurious 
imputation  if  said  of  one’s  father  confessor.  If  you 
send,  then,  your  son  to  Paris,  am  I uncharitable  in 
surmising  that  he  may,  sometimes,  use  the  privilege 
of  the  place?  It  is,  indeed,  a question  for  philosophy 
to  determine,  (and  not  for  me,)  which  of  the  two  may 
be  the  less  injurious  to  his  health  and  morals,  the  gross 
intercourse  he  is  exposed  to  in  some  other  towns,  or 
the  more  refined  gallantries  of  the  French  capital.  If 
you  can  preserve  him,  by  religious  and  other  in- 
fluences from  either,  as  Avell  as  from  the  dangers  of 
an  ascetic  and  solitary  abstinence — for  solitude  has  its 
vices  as  well  as  dissipation — so  much  the  better.  He 
will  be  a better  husband,  a better  citizen;  and  a better 
man.  But  let  me  tell  you  that  to  educate  a young 
man  of  fortune  and  leisure  to  live  through  a youth  of 
honesty,  has  become  excessively  difficult  even  in  any 
country;  and  to  expect  that,  Avith  money  and  address, 
he  will  live  entirely  honest  in  Paris,  where  women  of 
a good  quality  are  thrown  in  his  face — women  of  art, 
of  beauty,  and  refined  education — it  is  to  attribute 
virtues  to  human  nature,  she  is  in  no  way  entitled  to. 
The  Greeks  used  to  indulge  their  sons,  waiting  a fit 
marriage,  with  mistresses  of  decent  and  respectable 
character;”  and  entertained  them,  even  sometimes, 
VoL.  L— 19 


218 


VICES  OF  THE  CAPITAL. 


under  the  paternal  roof;  this  they  thought  necessary 
to  the  preservation  of  their  morals  and  health.  If  you 
love  the  Greeks,  then,  send  your  son  over  by  the  next 
packet.  He  may  have  some  trouble  with  his  con- 
science perhaps,  the  first  month  or  two,  but,  by  de- 
grees, he  will  become  reconciled,  and  get  along  well 
enough.  If  he  comes  over,  with  some  refinement  of 
taste,  and  moral  inclinations  and  habits,  or  only  on  a 
transient  visit,  or  without  French,  he  will  be  secure 
from  all  the  dangers  (except,  perhaps,  gambling)  to 
which  I have  alluded;  he  will  live  only  in  American 
society,  which  is  quite  as  good  and  pure  here  as  at 
home;  he  will  have  no  acquaintance  with  the  natives, 
but  of  that  class  in  which  a gentleman’s  morals  run 
less  risk  of  temptation  than  even  from  the  vulgar  inter- 
course of  American  towns.  All  that  part  of  a city 
like  Paris,  that  comes  into  relation  with  strangers,  and 
lives  by  deceiving  and  plundering  them,  is  of  course 
gross  and  corrupt;  and  as  the  best  things  are  the  worst 
when  spoilt,  the  women  are  detestable;  even  when 
there  is  youth  or  beauty,  its  natural  feelings  are  per- 
verted and  worn  out  by  use ; it  is  flat  beer,  stale  with- 
out being  ripe.  I do  not  know  any  community  in 
which  the  honesty  of  a gentleman  is  so  safe  from  con- 
tamination. 

It  is  certainl}?^  of  much  value  in  the  life  of  an  Ame- 
rican gentleman  to  visit  these  old  countries;  if  it  Avere 
only  to  form  a just  estimate  of  his  own,  which  he  is 
continually  liable  to  mistake,  and  always  to  overrate 
without  objects  of  comparison;  ^‘nimium  se  sestimet 
necesse  est,  qui  se  nemini  comparat.^^  He  will 
always  think  himself  wise,  who  sees  nobody  wiser; 
and  to  know  the  customs  and  institutions  of  foreign 


AMERICAN  SOCIETY  IN  PARIS. 


219 


countries,  which  one  cannot  know  well  without  resid- 
ing there,  is  certainly  the  complement  of  a good  edu- 
cation. The  American  society  at  Paris,  taken  alto- 
gether, is  of  a good  composition.  It  consists  of  several 
hundred  persons,  of  families  of  fortune,  and  young 
men  of  liberal  instruction.  Here  are  lords  of  cotton 
from  Carolina,  and  of  sugar-cane  from  the  Mississippi, 
millionaires  from  all  the  Canadas,  and  pursers  from  all 
the  navies;  and  their  social  qualities,  from  a sense  of 
mutual  dependence  or  partnership  in  absence,  or  some 
such  causes,  are  more  active  abroad  than  at  home. 
The  benevolent  affections  act  in  a contrary  way  from 
gravitation;  they  increase  as  the  square  of  the  distance 
from  the  centre.  The  plain  fact  is,  that  Americans  at 
Paris  are  hospitable  in  a very  high  degree;  they  have 
no  fear  of  being  dogged  with  company,  and  have 
leisure  here  which  they  have  no  where  else,  to  be 
amiable;  the  new  comer,  too,  is  more  tender  and 
thankful,  and  has  a higher  relish  of  hospitality  and 
kindness;  and  the  general  example  of  the  place  has  its 
effect  on  their  animal  spirits.  They  form  a little  re- 
public apart,  and  when  a stranger  arrives,  he  finds 
himself  at  home;  he  finds  himself  also  under  the  cen- 
sorial inspection  of  a public  opinion,  a salutary  re- 
straint not  always  the  luck  of  those  who  travel  into 
foreign  countries.  One  thing  only  is  to  be  blamed.  It 
becomes  every  day  more  the  fashion  for  the  elite  of 
our  cities  to  settle  themselves  here  permanently.  We 
cannot  but  deplore  this  exportation  of  the  precious 
metals,  since  our  country  is  drained  of  what  the  sup- 
ply is  not  too  abundant.  They  who  have  resided 
here  a few  years,  having  fortune  and  leisure,  do  not 
choose,  as  I perceive,  to  reside  any  where  else. 


220 


THE  OBSEllVATORY. 


It  is  now  midnight  and  more.  I have  said  so 
much  in  this  letter  about  grisettes,  that  I shall  have  a 
night-mare  of  them  before  morning.  This  Latin 
Quarter’’  is  one  of  the  most  instructing  volumes  of 
Paris,  but  all  I can  do  is  just  open  you  here  and  there 
some  of  its  pages  and  show  you  the  pictures — pictures 
in  this  country,  recollect  are  more  a decouvert  than 
in  America.  Please  make  the  allowance.  Good 
night. 


LETTER  XL 


The  Observatory — The  Astronomers — Val  de  Grace — Anne  of  Aus- 
tria— Hospice  des  Enfans  Trouves — Rows  of  Cradles — Sisters  of 
Charity — Vincent  de  Paul — Maisons  d’Accouchement — Place  St. 
Jaques — The  Catacombs — Skull  of  Ninon  de  I’Enclos — The  Poet 
Gilbert — Julian’s  Bath — Hotel  de  Cluny — Ancient  Furniture — 
Francis  the  First’s  Bed — Charlotte  Corday — Danton — Marat — 
Robespierre — Rue  des  Postes — Convents  of  former  times — Fau- 
bourg St.  Marceau. 


Paris,  Oct.  25th. 

I ROSE  this  morning  and  refreshed  myself  from  the 
repose  of  the  night,  by  running  boyishly  up  the  broad 
and  elegant  walk  which  leads  to  the  south  end  of  the 
garden,  to  the  Observatory;  the  place  where  they 
make  almanacks;  I went  and  saw  great  piles  of  as- 
tronomical books  and  instruments,  an  anemometer  to 
measure  the  winds,  and  another  affair  baptised  also 
in  Greek,  to  measure  the  rain;  also  a thing  in  the 
cellar,  which  in  this  Latin  Quarter,  they  call  an 


VAL  DE  GRACE. 


221 


acoustic  phcnomenonP  By  this  you  can  talk 
aloud  all  day  to  any  individual  standing  in  a particu- 
lar place,  and  not  another  of  the  company  will  be 
any  the  wiser  of  it.  There  are  a number  of  men 
here  whom  they  call  Astronomers,  who,  while  we 
are  asleep  look  after  the  stars,  and  observe  what  is 
going  on  in  the  moon;  and  who  go  to  bed  with  Ve- 
nus and  the  heavenly  bodies  towards  morning.  I 
must  tell  yon  what  I saw  in  coming  out.  I saw  a 
woman,  and  a very  decent  woman  too,  astride  of  the 
Meridian.  She  had  one  foot  in  East,  and  the  other 
all  the  Avay  in  West  longitude.  This  was  her  way 
of  straddling  a pole. 

There  was  an  old  woman  here  in  a little  stall,  upon 
a broad  and  paved  place  in  front  of  the  Observatory, 
Avho  sells  tobacco  and  butter,  belly-guts,  and  epic 
poems,  who  showed  me  the  very  stone  upon  which 
Marshall  Ney  stood  to  be  shot.  There  stood  the 
wretches  that  shot  him.  Yes  sir,  I saw  him  murdered, 
and  I never  wish  to  see  the  like  again. 

Just  east  I visited  another  remarkable  building, 
which  young  girls  read  about  in  their  romances,  called 
Val  de  Grace.  Anne  of  Austria  had  been  married 
twenty-two  years,  without  having,  as  they  say  in 
London,  any  hair  to  her  crown,  and  she  did  not  know 
what  to  do  about  it.  She  first  prayed  to  the  Lord  as 
Rachel  had  done  in  a similar  torment, and  the  Lord  was 
deaf  unto  her  prayers.  She  then  applied  to  certain  Be- 
nedictine monks  of  St.  Jaques.  She  promised  to  build 
them  a temple,  and  they  interceded  for  her,  and  she 
had  a fine  son;  you  have  perhaps  heard  of  Louis 
XIV.  Now  this  church  which  she  built,  was  Val  de 
Grace.  If  you  wish  to  see  the  prettiest  fresco  paint- 
19^ 


222 


FOUNDLING  HOSPITAL. 


ings  of  all  Paris,  you  must  go  in  here  and  look  up  at 
the  dome;  the  chapels,  too,  are  full  of  virgins  and 
little  Holy  Ghosts  and  musty  little  angels.  She  came 
here  in  1624,  and  laid  the  corner  stone  with  her  own 
little  hands — Anne  of  Austria  did.  And  she  bestowed 
some  special  privileges  upon  the  monastery;  amongst 
others,  the  right  of  burying  in  this  church  the  hearts  of 
all  the  defunct  princesses  beginning  with  herself;  and  at 
the  Revolution  one  counted  even  to  twenty-six  royal 
hearts.’^  The  convent  of  Fr/Z  de  Grace  is  now  turned 
into  a military  Hospital,  and  greasy  soldiers  are  sta- 
bled where  once  lived  and  breathed  the  pretty  nuns 
you  read  of  in  your  novels. 

Just  in  the  neighborhood  is  the  Hospice  des  Enfans 
Troiives,  to  which  I paid  a hasty  visit.  If  a child 
takes  it  into  its  head  to  be  born  out  of  lawful  wed- 
lock, which  now  and  then  occurs,  it  is  carried  to  this 
hospital  for  nourishment  and  education.  The  ave- 
rage number  admitted  here,  is  6000  annually;  I6i  per 
day.  They  are  received  day  and  night  and  no  ques** 
tions  asked.  All  you  have  to  do  is,  place  the  little 
human  being  in  a box  communicating  with  an  apart- 
ment in  the  interior,  which  on  ringing  a bell,  is  taken 
in,  and  gets  on  afterwards  well  enough,  often  better 
than  we  who  think  ourselves  legitimate.  It  sucks 
no  diseases  from  its  mother’s  milk;  and  from  its  fa- 
ther’s example  no  vices:  and  it  has  a good  many  vir- 
tues incident  to  its  condition.  It  has  amongst  these 
a great  reverence  for  old  age,  not  knowing  but  that 
every  old  gentleman  it  meets  might  be  a little  its 
papa. 

On  entering  this  Hospital  you  will  see  two  long  rows 
of  cradles  running  over  with  babies,  and  a group  of 


VINCENT  DE  PAUE. 


223 


sisters  in  gowns  of  black  serge,  making  and  mending 
up  the  baby  wardrobe,  or  extending  to  the  little  desti- 
tute creatures  the  offices  of  maternity;  and  indeed  they 
take  such  care  of  them  that,  as  almost  to  discourage 
poor  people  from  having  legitimate  children  altogether. 
I have  no  doubt  that  many  an  excellent  mother  in 
passing  by  repents  sincerely  that  her  poor  children 
are  not  misbegotten;  and  that  the  little  rogues  too 
themselves,  as  they  toddle  along  outside  in  their  sabots, 
to  their  day’s  work,  without  their  breakfast,  wish  to 
the  Lord  such  things  had  never  been  born  as  honest 
mammies  to  forestall  their  advantages.  But  what 
praise  can  be  equal  to  the  merits  of  these  sisters  of 
charity?  You  see  them  every  where  that  suffering 
humanity  needs  their  assistance;  their  devotion  has 
no  parallel  in  the  history  of  the  world.  They  are  very 
often,  too,  of  rich  and  distinguished  families,  women 
who  leave  all  enjoyments  of  gay  society,  to  pursue 
these  humble  and  laborious  duties,  to  practise  in  these 
silent  walls,  prudence,  patience,  fortitude,  and  all  those 
domestic  virtues  and  peaceful  moralities,  which,  in 
this  naughty  world  of  ours,  obtain  neither  admiration 
nor  distinction.  Think  only  of  relinquishing  fashion, 
and  rank,  and  pleasure  to  be  granny  to  an  almshouse! 

This  Hospital  was  founded  by  one  of  the  most  re- 
spectable saints  of  all  Paris,  Vincent  de  Paul.  His 
statue  is  placed  in  the  vestibule.  It  would  do  your 
heart  good  to  see  the  babies  go  down  on  their  bits  of 
knees  every  evening  and  bless  the  memory  of  this 
Saint.  A cradle  used  to  be  hung  up  as  a sign  to  draw 
customers  here,  but  the  reputation  of  the  house  is  now 
made,  and  it  is  taken  down.  Formerly  the  ringing  of 
a bell  too,  or  the  waiUngs  of  the  infant,  the  mother 


224 


MAISONS  d’aCOUCHEMENT. 


giving  it  a pinch,  was  enough  to  announce  a new 
comer,  but  lately  so  many  dead  children  have  been 
put  in  the  box  to  avoid  the  expense  of  burying  them 
that  they  have  been  obliged  to  stop  up  the  hole.  I 
am  sorry  for  this;  it  was  so  convenient.  You  just 
put  in  a baby  as  you  put  a letter  in  the  post  office ; 
now  you  are  obliged  to  carry  it  into  a room  inside, 
where  the  names,  dress,  the  words  and  behaviour  of 
those  who  bring  it,  as  also  its  death,  are  entered  in  a 
register;  this  register  is  kept  a profound  secret ; never 
revealed  to  any  one,  unless  one  pays  twenty  francs. 

I visited  the  school-rooms,  where  those  of  proper 
age  are  taught  to  read  and  write.  They  seem  very 
merry  and  happy,  and,  having  no  communication  with 
the  world,  are  unconscious  of  any  inferiority  of  birth; 
they  think  we  all  come  the  same  way.  When  very 
young  or  sickly  they  are  put  out  to  nurse  through  the 
country,  and  at  twelve  are  apprenticed  to  a trade. 
The  sisters  will  point  you  out  a mother  who  has 
placed  her  infant  here  and  got  herself  employed  as 
child’s  nurse  to  the  Hospital  to  give  it  nourishment 
and  care.  I forgot  to  mention  that  mothers  are  not 
allowed  to  see  their  babies,  or  receive  their  bodies  if 
they  die;  they  are  reserved  for  the  improvement  of 
anatomical  science. 

A useful  appendage  to  this  establishment  are  the 
numerous  Maisons  distributed  every 

where  over  the  city,  in  which  persons  find  accommo- 
dations, as  secretly  as  they  please,  and  at  all  prices  to 
suit  their  circumstances.  The  evils  of  all  these  estab- 
lishments are  manifest;  the  good  is,  the  prevention  of 
infanticide,  often  of  suicide,  and  of  the  perjuries  innu- 
merable, and  impositions  practised  in  some  other  coun- 


THE  CATACOMBS. 


225 


tries.  I doubt  whether  a city  like  Paris  could  safely 
adopt  any  other  system.  The  tables  of  the  last  year’s 
births  stand  thus:  seventeen  thousand  one  hundred 
and  twenty-nine  legitimate;  nine  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred and  twenty-one  illegitimate.  So  you  see  that 
every  second  man  you  meet  in  Paris  wants  but  a trifle 
of  being  no  bastard.  Expense  above  a million  and 
a half  of  francs. 

Here  is  the  Place  St,  Jacques;  the  place  of  public 
execution.  It  is  the  present  station  of  the  Guillotine, 
which  has  already  made  several  spots  of  the  city  clas- 
sical. And  here  is  appropriately  the  Barriere  (PEnfer, 
These  Barriers  are  found  at  all  the  great  issues  from 
the  city  through  the  walls.  They  are  amongst  the 
curiosities  of  Paris;  often  beautiful  with  sculpture,  and 
other  ornaments. 

Whilst  I was  surveying  this  district,  in  my  usual 
solitary  way,  I met  two  gentlemen  and  a lady,  ac- 
quaintances, who  were  descending  into  the  Catacombs, 
whose  opening  is  just  here:  and  I went  down  with 
them.  This  nether  world  bears  upon  its  vaults  three 
fourths  of  the  Quarter  St.  Germain,  with  its  superin- 
cumbent mass  of  churches  and  palaces.  The  light  of 
Heaven  is  shut  out,  and  so  deep  a silence  reigns  in  its 
recesses,  that  one  hears  his  own  footsteps  walking  after 
him,  and  is  so  vast  that  several  visitors,  straying  away 
a few  years  ago,  have  not  yet  returned.  The  bones 
of  fifty  generations  are  emptied  here  from  ancient 
grave  yards  of  Paris,  now  only  known  to  history. 
What  a hideous  deformity  of  skulls!  After  entering 
half  a mile  we  saw  various  constructions,  all  made 
out  of  these  remnants  of  mortality;  sepulchral  monu- 
ments, an  entire  church,  with  its  pulpit,  confessional, 


226 


NINON  DE  L^ENCLOS. 


altars,  tombs,  and  cofiins;  and  the  victims  of  several 
Revolutionary  massacres  are  laid  out  here  chronologi- 
cally. How  unjacobinical  they  look! 

On  entering  you  are  confronted  with  the  following 
inscription:  ‘‘  %^rrete^  c^est  id  V empire  de  la  MortV^ 
and  various  other  inscriptions  are  put  up  in  the  dead 
languages,  and  names  often  written  upon  skulls,  to 
designate  their  owners.  Fix  your  eyes  here,^^  said 
our  lady;  this  is  the  skull  of  Ninon  de  FEnclos,^^ 
with  verses. 


“ L’indulgente  et  sage  Nature 
A forme  I’^me  de  Ninon 
De  la  volupte  d’Epicure, 

Et  de  la  vertu  de  Caton.” 


And  this  is  her  skull!  Every  one  knows  her  history, 
but  I will  tell  a little  of  it  over  again.  I will  give 
you  a list  of  her  court.  Moliere,  Corneille,  Scaron, 
St.  Evermond,  Chapelle,  Desmarets,  Mignard,  Cha- 
teauneuf,  Chaulieu,  Conde,  Vendome,  Villeroi,  Vil- 
lars,  D’Etree,  La  Rouchefaucauld,  Choiseuil,  Sevigne 
and  Fontenelle.  She  was  honored  with  the  confi- 
dence of  Madame  Scaron,  and  the  homage,  through 
her  ambassadors,  of  the  Queen  of  Sweden.  She  made 
conquests  at  sixty,  one  at  seventy,  and  died  at  ninety. 
Her  own  son,  the  Chevalier  de  Villiers,  fell  in  love 
with  her  at  fifty,  and  fell  upon  his  sword,  when  she 
revealed  to  him  the  secret  of  his  birth.  The  Cheva- 
lier de  Gourville  confided  to  her  twenty  thousand 
crowns,  when  driven  to  exile,  and  a like  sum  to  the 
Grand  Penetencier;  the  priest  denied  the  deposit,  and 
the  courtezan  restored  it,  unasked.  I visited,  a month 
ago,  her  chateau,  and  saw  the  rooms  in  which  she 


THE  POET  GILBERT. 


227 


used  to  give  her  famous  suppers  h tons  les  Des- 
prea  ux,  et  tons  les  Racines, And  this  is  her  skull  I 
While  my  doctor  companions  were  turning  it  about, 
and  explaining  the  bumps — how  big  was  her  ideality, 
how  developed  her  amativeness,  I turned  her  about 
in  my  mind,  until  I had  turned  her  into  shapes  again 
— into  that  incomparable  beauty  and  grace,  which  no 
rival  was  able  to  equal,  and  which  sensuality  itself 
was  not  able  to  degrade.  I hung  back  the  lips  upon 
those  grinning  teeth,  I gave  her  her  smile  again,  her 
wit,  and  her  eloquence.  I assisted  at  her  little  court 
of  Cyprus,  in  the  Rue  de  Tournelle,  where  philoso- 
phers came  to  gather  wisdom,  and  courtiers  grace 
from  her  conversation;  I assisted  at  her  toilet,  and 
witnessed  the  hopes,  the  jealousies,  the  agonies,  and 
ecstacies  of  her  lovers.  And  so  we  took  leave  of  the 
exquisit  Ninon’s  skull — if  it  was  hers. 

The  poet  Gilbert,  who  died  of  want,  has  here  an 
apartment  to  himself,  which  he  had  not  above  ground. 
It  is  inscribed  with  his  own  mournful  epitaph. 

“ Au  banqnet  de  la  vie,  infortune  convive, 

J’apparus  un  jour,  et  je  meurs. 

Je  meurs,  et  sur  ma  tombe,  ou  lentement  j’arrive, 

Nul  ne  viendra  verser  des  pleurs!’* 

I could  not  help  contradicting  him  for  the  life  of  me. 

In  the  very  interior  of  the  cavern  are  collections  of 
water  which  have  classical  names.  Here  is  the  Styx 
just  under  the  Ecole  Medecine,  and  the  river  Lethe 
flows  hard  by  the  Institute.  We  came  at  length  to 
the  cabinet  of  skulls,  arranged  upon  shelves,  some 
for  phrenology,  and  some  for  pathology,  exhibiting 
in  classes  the  several  diseases;  which  our  doctors  ex- 


228 


JULIANAS  BATHS. 


plained  with  nice  circumstantiality,  to  their  Sibyl  con- 
ductor; rows  of  toes,  of  fingers,  and  jaws,  and  legs 
which  used  to  cut  pigeon-wings,  and  pirouettes,  alas! 
how  gracefully.  In  the  mean  time  I saw  a couple 
of  ghosts,  (I  supposed  them  to  be  Cuvier,  and  Dr. 
Gall,)  skulking  away  as  soon  as  they  caught  a glimpse 
of  our  tapers,  and  I saw  a great  many  other  things, 
not  interesting  to  people  above  ground.  We  began 
now  to  be  apprehensive  of  taking  cold,  and  being 
sent  hither  to  enrich  these  cabinets;  and  so  we  de- 
posited at  the  door  our  golden  branch,  and  having 
mounted  a strait  stair-way  one  hundred  feet  were 
purified  in  open  air. 

The  two  doctors  now  left  me  their  Eurydice,  and 
she  and  I,  being  inspired  alike  with  the  spirit  of  sight- 
seeing, went  a few  hundred  yards  westward  and  saw 
Julianas  Baths.  Though  he  is  said  to  have  been 
little  addicted  to  bathing,  here  are  his  baths,  the  only 
relic  of  his  sojourn  in  Paris.  This  old  building  is  an 
oblong  with  very  thick  walls,  which  are  crumbling 
to  decay.  One  of  them  is  entirely  dilapidated.  The 
vaults,  rising  forty-tAVo  feet  above  the  soil,  and  fur- 
naces under  ground,  and  parts  of  the  bathing  rooms 
are  exposed  to  view,  in  all  the  naked  majesty  of  a 
ruin;  a ruin,  too,  of  fifteen  centuries.  This  is  but  a 
single  hall  of  an  immense  palace — the  Palais  des 
Thermes— which  once  covered  the  present  site  of  the 
University.  It  was  the  scene  of  licentious  revellings 
and  crime,  laiebra  scelerum^  Venerisque  accom- 
moda  furtis,’^^  afterwards  of  the  theological  disputes 
of  the  Sorbonne,  and  now  of  the  quiet  lectures  of  the 
University;  and  Virgin  Maries  are  now  made  out  of 
the  old  Venuses.  I am  a goose  of  an  antiquary;  all 


ANCIENT  FURNITURE. 


229 


I could  see  was  Mrs.  Julien  jumping  into  her  bath 
and  coming  dribbling  out  again ; but  my  companion 
was  very  different.  She  had  a taste  for  putting  her 
nose  in  ever  musty  corner,  and  cracking  off  pieces  of 
a bath,  and  the  Roman  mortar,  of  which  posterity 
has  lost  the  secret,  to  put  in  her  cabinet.  She  has 
overrun  all  Europe,  and  has  now  got,  she  says,  near 
a ton  of  antiquities.  She  has  a stone  from  Kenil- 
worth, and  a birch  from  VirgiPs  tomb,  plenty  of  mo- 
saics from  the  coliseum,  and  of  auld  nick-nackets.’^ 
from  Stirling  castle.  She  has  promised  me  a leaf 
from  Tasso’s  lemon  tree,  and  one  from  Rousseau’s  rose 
bush,  also  a twig  of  William  Toll’s  tree  of  liberty,  and 
Shakspeare’s  mulberry,  and  a little  chip  of  Doctor 
Johnson’s  cedar  at  Streatham.  And  nearly  all  our 
travelling  Yankee  ladies  are  bringing  over  a similar 
collection;  after  a while  the  commonest  thing  in  the 
world  will  be  a curiosity. 

Close  in  this  neighborhood  is  the  Hotel  de  Cluny^ 
to  which  we  paid  also  a visit — I having  a ticket  from 
Mr.  Sommerand,  the  proprietor.  In  this  hotel  used 
to  lodge  Roman  generals  and  emperors,  and  the  first 
French  kings.  A suit  of  seven  or  eight  rooms  are 
crammed  with  furniture,  the  remains  of  ths  last  age; 
some  of  it  magnificently  decayed;  commodes,  chests, 
boxes,  second  hand  tooth  brushes,  pots  de  chambre 
as  good  as  new,  and  other  national  relics.  Nothing 
contemporary  enters  here;  there  was  nothing,  but 
the  lady  who  accompanied  me,  under  a hundred  years 
old.  First  we  entered  the  dinning  room,  and  saw  a 
knight  in  full  armor  placed  by  a table;  and  the  ghost 
of  a mahogany  sideboard  at  the  opposite  end — with- 
out date,  and  there  is  no  knowing  whether  it  was 
VoL.  I.  —20 


230 


BED  OF  FRANCIS  FIRST. 


made  before  or  since  the  flood — with  its  knives,  and 
spoons,  and  earthenware  tea  cups  of  the  same  anti- 
quity; next  a bed  chamber,  hung  in  gilt  leather — 
whose  do  you  think?  Why  Francis  the  First’s,  with 
all  the  implements  thereunto  belonging.  An  entire 
suit  of  steel  armor,  cap-a-pie,  reposes  upon  the  bed, 
with  a vizor  of  the  Knight’s,  which  had  gained  vic- 
tories in  jousts  and  tournaments;  also  an  old  coat  out 
at  the  elbows,  worn  last,  I presume,  by  his  footman. 
Every  little  rag  of  his  is  preserved  here.  Here,  too, 
are  girdles  and  bracelets,  caskets  and  other  valuables, 
and  a necklace  with  its  pedigree  labelled  on  a bit  of 
parchment;  the  Belle  Feroniere’s  I suppose.  Here 
is  the  very  glass  he  looked  into,  with  a Venus  hold- 
ing a garland  in  front,  and  a cross  and  altar  behind,  by 
way  of  symmetry;  and  here  are  the  very  spurs  (I  held 
them  in  my  hand)  which  he  wore  at  Pavia;  finally 
the  very  bed,  the  very  sheets  his  Majesty  slept  in. 
This  bed  was  hawked  about  all  Paris  in  the  Revolu- 
lution — Mrs.  Griggou  had  twins  on  it— at  last  it  was 
sold  at  auction  in  the  public  streets,  a dix  francs 
seulement^  and  was  knocked  down  to  Monsieur  Som- 
merand — bed,  comfortable,  and  the  little  pillow  about 
as  big  as  a sausage.  I was  much  gratified  with  this 
collection,  which  is  certainly  unique  in  the  world; 
and  you  are  not  hurried  through  by  a Cicerone,  but 
by  the  complaisance  of  M.  Sommerand  you  can  rum- 
mage and  ransack  things  at  your  leisure.  In  the 
other  rooms  are  vases  and  caskets,  and  precious  cabi- 
nets, a spinette  of  Marie  de  Medicis,  and  other  furni- 
ture of  noble  dames;  one  gets  tired  looking  at  their 
trinkets;  and  in  other  rooms  are  castings  and  inlay- 
ings, and  carvings,  and  so  forth. 


CHARLOTTE  CORDAY. 


^31 

I now  took  madam  under  my  arm,  and  descending 
through  one  of  the  thousand  and  eighty  streets  of 
Paris  into  the  Rue  de  V Ecole  Medecine^  deposited 
her  at  her  home.  You  should  never  pass  into  this 
street  without  stopping  awhile  to  contemplate  a very 
memorable  dwelling  in  it — that  in  which  Charlotte 
Corday  assassinated  Marat.  One  owes  to  this  gene- 
rous maid  and  disinterested  martyr  to  humanity,  a 
tribute  in  approaching  its  threshold.  The  house  is 
also  otherwise  remarkable.  Danton  used  to  call  here 
of  a morning  from  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  upon  Ma- 
rat, and  then  they  went  arm  in  arm  to  the  Convention; 
and  Collet  d’Herbois,  the  actor — what  memorable 
names!  and  Chabot  the  Capucin,  Legendre  the  butch- 
er, Chaumette  the  Atheist,  and  St.  Just  and  Robes- 
pierre— used  to  hold  here  their  nightly  councils.  It 
would  puzzle  Beelzebub  to  get  up  such  another  club. 
Under  the  outer  door-way  are  remaining  the  letters 
^ ^ OR  D * a part  of  the  inscription  effaced,  Li- 
berty, Indivisibility,  on  Death 

I now  dined  and  traversed  leisurely  the  Place  du 
PantMon  homewards  passing  through  the  Rue  de 
V Estrapade  into  the  Rue  des  Posies,  once  famous 
for  its  convents.  This  is  to  a pious  man,  and  one 
who  lives  a little  back  into  the  past,  a holy  religion; 
it  is  consecrated  by  religious  recollections  beyond  all 
the  other  spots  of  Paris.  Here  in  this  single  Rue 
des  Posies, was  the  old  Convent  des  Dames  de 
Si.  Augustin^^ — des  Dames  St.  Thomas.^^ — des 
Dames  Ursulines,^^ — des  Dames  de  la  Visitations^ 
— de  V Adoration  Perpetuelle,^^ — ‘‘ du  St.  Sacra- 
ment;^^— Alas,  how  many  pretty  women,  born  to 
fulfil  a better  destiny,  mewed  up  in  perpetual  youth, 


23« 


CONVENTS. 


within  those  dismal  cloisters!  Here,  too,  were  the 
convents  of  the  Filles  de  P Immaculee  Conceptions^ 
— de  la  St.  Providences^^  and  finally,  les  Filles  de 
Bonne  VolontL^^  It  is  the  very  region  of  repentant 
lovers,  of  heart-sick  maids,  and  of  all  the  friars  and 
holy  nuns  of  the  romances.  Towards  the  close  of  a 
summer’s  evening,  one’s  fancy  sees  nothing  here,  but 
visions  and  spectres.  You  will  descend,  in  spite  of 
your  reason,  with  Madam  Radcliff,  into  the  subterra- 
nean chambers  of  the  convent,  and  into  the  solitary 
prisons,  where  you  will  see  poor  Ellena  and  her  iron 
table,  her  dead  lantern,  her  black  bread,  her  cruche 
of  water,  and  her  crucifix;  and  you  will  see  the 
wretch  Schedoni  bare  the  bosom  of  the  sleeping  maid, 
and  hanging  over  the  dagger.  It  is  his  own  mini- 
ature!— his  own  daughter!  And  then  you  will  walk 
through  the  long  row  of  silent  monks,  and  smoky  ta- 
pers in  the  funeral  of  a broken-hearted  sister,  the 
sullen  bell  of  the  chapel  giving  news  that  a soul  has 
fled. 

The  evening  was  still  and  solemn;  and  the  sun  just 
descending  on  your  side  of  the  globe;  and  lured  by 
the  novelty  of  the  place,  I travelled  slowly  onwards 
through  a narrow  lane  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Marceau. 
This  street  is  different  from  all  that  I had  seen  in 
Paris;  it  is  perhaps  different  from  any  thing  that  is  to 
be  seen  upon  the  earth.  The  houses^’are  so  immensely 
high  that  not  a ray  even  in  the  brightest  mid-day 
reaches  the  pavement,  which  is  covered  with  a slimy 
mud.  The  darkened  and  grated  windows  give  to 
the  houses,  the  look  of  so  many  prisons.  A chilling 
damp,  and  horrid  gloom  invest  you  around;  you  feel 
stifled  for  want  of  air.  Now  and  then  the  whine  of 


GLOOMY  STREET. 


233 


a dog,  or  the  wailing  of  a beggar,  interrupts  the  si- 
lence, and  sometimes  a sister  of  charity,  wrapped  in 
her  hood  and  mantle,  passes  quick  from  one  house  to 
another.  I went  out  willingly  of  this  street,  growing 
more  horrible  by  the  coming  night,  into  the  purer 
atmosphere  of  the  Seine.  And  thus  ended  my  ad- 
venture for  the  day. 

\ 


END  OF  VOL  I. 


I 


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